Devolution
by Stratusfied247
Summary: In this alternate universe, the members of Evolution Triple H, Ric Flair, Batista, Randy Orton are in charge of a growing nightclub empire. To read the complete summary, go inside. [COMPLETED]
1. Chapter 1

**_Summary: _**_In this alternate universe, the members of Evolution (Triple H, Ric Flair, Batista, Randy Orton) are in charge of a growing nightclub empire. But it's not just parties that they deal in. If it's illegal, you can pretty well bet that they have their hands in it. They've been successful, and the women with them have been just as successful. However, their success is coming back to bite them in the ass. They have wronged someone, and the perpetrator must be caught before Evolution and all those connected to them end up dead._**_  
_**

**_Author's Note: I wrote this story a while back, earlier this year, I believe. It's an AU story featuring Evolution as club owners. I warn you now that this story does involve some heavy themes, including drug use, assault and murder. If any of those offend you, do not read any further into this story. If you're cool with it, then by all means, trudge along._**

**_ The main cast is as follows:  
Triple H  
Ric Flair  
Batista  
Randy Orton  
Trish Stratus  
Stacy Keibler (In this AU, she is Ric Flair's daughter)  
Chris Benoit  
Chyna_**

**_

* * *

_**Hunter Hearst Helmsley hit the floor hard. His jaw stung from the left-handed blow that connected solidly with his face. He rose his hand to touch the tender spot and flinched at the pain. A crowd formed around him and his head rotated to give all of the spectators a glare as he got to his feet. Another fist came towards him and he ducked just in time. The blow hit the tip of the chin of the man behind him.

Dave Batista stumbled backwards, but didn't fall. His muscles flexed beneath his tailored suit. A sneer spread his lips. He pushed Hunter out of the way and barrelled forward. He hit the attacker with a heavy shoulder and rushed him to the ground. Still the crowd grew more, but the fighters didn't acknowledge them.

William Regal put his arms up, blocking the oncoming blows with his forearms. He pulled his legs up planted his feet against Dave's stomach just enough to kick him back and jump back to his feet. Anger boiled up in him and gave him the strength to surge forward. He threw determined and measured punches towards Hunter and Dave, connecting with nearly every blow.

Dave and Hunter were backed halfway across the dance floor by the time security waded through the crowd. Arms wrapped around Regal's waist and he turned around ready to strike out. He stopped at the sight of the large woman in front of him. Her hair was midnight black and fell over her shoulders to the elbow. She was more muscular than most men he had seen... but she was still a woman. That thought halted his punch, but didn't stop hers.

Chyna released Regal and punched him once, hard in the stomach. He bent forward and she brought her forearm up into his face. He stumbled backwards and two large bouncers grabbed his arms.

"I'll kill you!" His British accent was so thick that his words seemed to run together. "If that dear boy dies, I'll come back here and destroy every last one of you!"

"Get that crazy son of a bitch out of my club!" Hunter came around Regal's side to face Chyna. "You're the head of security! How the hell did he get in here."

Chyna glared at him. A low growl crept up her throat. She worked in that club as a favor to Dave, not to listen to Hunter pretend to be great. Any niceties between the two were few and far in between thanks to a past that was filled with broken hearts and burnt bridges. "Don't fucking order me around," she told him. "And you damn sure aren't gonna question me."

"It's my fucking club! I'll do whatever the fuck I want to do!"

"It's not just yours!" She pushed him aside, wondering why the hell she had decided to work there at all. She pointed to the bouncers, then jerked her thumb towards the door. "Get him the hell out of here and don't let him back in!"

"You're all dead!" Regal yelled as he was dragged off the dance floor. "You're selling drugs out of this club and I'll destroy you for it! Keep your filthy garbage away from Eugene!"

"We don't care about your fucking retard!" Dave lurched forward, then stopped as Chyna moved in front of him. "Get the hell outta here and don't come back!"

The bouncers dragged Regal kicking and screaming out of the club. Hunter stood in the middle of the dance floor and looked around. People stood in huddled masses. So many whispers at once turned into a dull roar. The music had stopped playing. The drinks had stopped flowing. Upstairs, he saw one of his other partners, Ric Flair, staring down from their glass encased office with a frown. Hunter groaned and looked around for the other partner. Randy Orton stood near one of the raised cages, looking up to talk to the dancer inside. He turned again and saw Dave standing beside him, the last of the partners in his nightclub venture.

With a growl and sneer, Hunter shouted, "Everybody back to business! Turn that goddamned music back on! Get a fucking drink! This is a dance club, goddammit! Fucking dance!"

Everyone was slow to move, but eventually the party grew back to a throbbing pace. Dave put a hand on Hunter's shoulder and he whirled around. "What?"

Dave groaned. "Take a walk, man. Grab a couple of chicks and take 'em back to VIP. Do something because you're about to start pissing people off."

"Who? Chyna? Fuck her, it's my club."

"It's our club, and we wanna make money. Call the cops tomorrow and get a restraining order against that limey fuck and let it be done. We've got more important things to think about." Dave straightened his tie and rotated his neck. He put his hand to his jaw and jerked it quickly to the right. It was still sore, but he'd get over it. "And back the fuck off of Chy, alright? We finally squashed that shit with you two so it won't hurt business. Don't bring it back up."

Dave turned away and Hunter watched him go to Chyna and throw his arm over her shoulders. Hunter growled and turned away. He was tired of people getting in his face, but Dave had a point. They had a business to run and starting shit with his partners and employees wasn't the way to make money.

With a shrug he looked down and straightened his shirt. One of the buttons were torn and he muttered, "Fuck." Sighing, he pulled his jacket in and fastened an extra button, then walked off the floor. He randomly grabbed two girls, one blonde and the other brunette, and led them off towards the back. Fuck Regal and his little adopted retard... What could they do to him, anyway?


	2. Chapter 2

Club Evolution was a two story complex in the center of Miami. It began as a small club, open Friday and Saturday nights. Two years later it had expanded to include Thursdays and Sundays. Another year, and they were open seven days a week from 8 pm to four in the morning. It boasted three VIP rooms, each with different status levels, four steel cages complete with half-dressed dancing girls that were elevated ten feet over the main dance floor, and the hottest DJ in town, a transplant from Boston who went by the Doctor of Thuganomics. 

At two in the afternoon, the club was little more than a ghost town. The head bartender took inventory and filled out re-order forms. Victoria was tall, handy with a bottle, and had no problem jumping up on the bar to give a dance in the middle of a hot song. She knew how to get her tips and she took the drunk and horny patrons for all they were worth.

Tables lined the outer regions of the club, backed away from the dance floor. Most of the tabletops were covered in upturned chairs, but one was set up to seat four men. With glasses of bourban at various levels all around, Hunter, Ric, Randy and Dave sat back and stared up at the police officer that gave them a steel glare. None of the men flinched, and neither did the cop.

Detective Chris Benoit watched each man carefully, taking in their easy demeanor and sickening smirks. He spent far too much of his time inside Club Evolution, and none of it was for pleasure. "There are kids dying on my streets," he said, his voice steady, his eyes touching each one. "Three in the past two days and what do you know? Word on the street says the stuff they got all came from here."

Hunter smirked and rolled his eyes. "You been listening to the druggies again, Benoit? How many times do you have to get burned by the doped up freaks out there to realize they're all full of shit."

"Really, man, this is bordering on harassment." Randy Orton ran his hand over his short cropped hair, then shrugged his shoulders. "I think our rights are being violated." He turned to Dave and asked, "What about you?"

"Oh yeah." The big man nodded and leaned back. He reached out and let his fingers tap against the cool crystal of his tumbler. "I think we might have to give our lawyers a call and let them know that the Miami-Dade PD doesn't have enough to do."

The three men snickered, but Ric Flair stayed stoic. He stood up slowly from his chair, pulling his jacket together and fastening a button. "Detective, we're the victims here, in case you didn't get that. Hunter went in and filed a simple restraining order, the third we've had to file this month. There are jealous people all around us. There are bitter people around us. We pay our taxes..." He paused at the muffled snicker from one of his partners, but couldn't tell who it came from. "...and we deserve our money's worth. Stop harassing us and keep those maniacs from infringing on our right to enjoy capitalism."

Benoit smirked. His head nodded slowly, then he clapped. "Very good, Flair. That's the best one this week. Try me again tomorrow, and I might give you a few bucks for your good show."

Flair narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. His hands pressed flat against the cold lacquer of the table. "Remember this, Benoit. I'm Ric Flair. I'm the man, and you... you're just a cop with less clout than my fucking dog. Get out there and do your job, and stop fucking with me."

The two men stared at one another with a burning anger that could heat the entire club for months. Flair couldn't remember a time in the past ten years that he didn't have Benoit or someone like him on his case. Benoit had gone from narcotics to homocide, and both divisions seemed to bring him to his doorstep. It was as though any crime that happened, the first name on his suspect list was Ric Flair, followed closely by the other owners of Club Evolution. They hated each other, and made no bones about it.

The door to the club opened with a whoosh and all heads turned slowly at the interruption. A tall, willowy blonde walked carefully across the floor. Her heels clicked lightly against the floor as her long legs propelled her forward. The three men still seated stood up as she drew closer. Ric stood up straight and replaced the grimace on his face with a grin. His arms went out and the woman's pace picked up.

Stacy Keibler was just one of many children that his wheeling and dealing lifestyle had produced over the years. His spawn was spread all over the country, but Stacy was the only one who lived in Miami. Though she constantly heard bad things said about her father, she could think only good things about him. He had always shown her love, kindness and respect. She couldn't see him as anything but a great, successful man.

She went into his arms with a giggle. Ric hugged her tightly, kissed her cheek, then pulled back. "What are you doing here?" he asked her. "I wasn't expecting you by until tonight."

"I know." She stood back and pushed her hair back behind her ears. "I was just passing by and saw the cars out front, so I thought I'd stop in and say hi."

"Uh huh." He turned to the others. "Boys. Say hi to Stacy."

"Hi, Stacy," they said in unison. Hunter turned towards Benoit and grunted. "Don't you know how to be polite when a lady enters the room?"

Benoit rolled his eyes and looked at Stacy. Though he hated her father, he really couldn't hold anything against her. She was an upstanding citizen who never got into any trouble. She only had two flaws. One, she had the bad luck to be related to Flair. Two, she didn't realize that working for Evolution Enterprises wasn't a sound career move.

He nodded at her. "Hello, Stacy."

"Detective." She returned the nod and sighed. "If you're here to harass my father and his friends, could you please stop?" He just stared and she sighed again. Turning back to her father, she said, "I heard about that guy that came in here last night." Her head fell and she pouted. "I feel so bad for him, Daddy. I mean, Eugene is so sick and the poor thing... it's just driving poor Mr. Regal mad."

"The man's out of his fuckin' mind, that's what he is." Hunter growled. "I'm tired of us getting the blame for everything that happens in this damned city."

"Stop causing bad shit to happen," Benoit told him, "and you won't get blamed."

"Take your accusations and–"

"Stop!" Stacy groaned and put her hands on her hips. "Would you all just stop? The tension is so thick in here I'm surprised Victoria hasn't choked on it." The bartender looked up and grunted. Stacy waved at her, then turned back. "Detective, could you please just... not do this today? We all have things to do and I'm sure there are more pressing crimes going on than whatever you think it is the guys have done. And now, if you'll excuse me, I really did only come by to give a quick hello. I've got to get back to work. The vice president's work at a multi-million dollar company is never done." She gave her father a quick peck on the cheek, waved to the others, then sauntered back out of the club.

The owners of Evolution Enterprises turned their attention back to the detective when Stacy was gone. "You're wasting my time," Randy said. He picked up his glass, took a sip, then put it back on the table. "I'm supposed to meet Trish in less than half an hour and I really don't feel like hearing her shit on top of yours. You won't do shit, anyway, so I'm outta here."

Randy turned to leave and Dave called out, "Wait a sec!" He shrugged his shoulders. "Drop me at the shop. I've gotta pick up my car." He glared at Benoit. "You want a real crime? Find the fucker that bashed in my windows."

"I'm homocide."

"Well, get one of your buddies to do it. Leave us the fuck alone."

Dave followed after Randy, and when the door slammed behind them, Hunter and Flair were left to stare at Benoit. Hunter rose his arm and pointed up. "You see that big glass case up there? Our office. We've got things to do in there. Legitimate things. Business things. Money making things. Don't be jealous that we make in a week what you make in a year."

Hunter turned and started to stalk off towards the office. Ric leaned forward again. He had regained his glare and focused hard on Benoit. "Remember what I said. I'm Ric Flair. I've got more money than The Donald. Don't fuck with me, you useless piece of shit." He stormed off and followed Hunter up to the office.

Benoit was left to stand downstairs. He stared up at the glass and waited until he saw Hunter and Ric enter. Both men stood at the glass and looked down. Benoit rose his arm and pointed to each of them. The men smirked and Benoit turned, his eyes landing on Victoria. The bartender shrugged, then smirked. "Don't look at me," she said, "I just work here."


	3. Chapter 3

"I got a very disturbing phone call today." 

Trish Stratus laid across the sofa, her ankles propped up on the far arm and her head flat on the cushion. Her hands were folded over her stomach. Dressed in silk boxers and a tank top, she looked a lot more comfortable than she really was. She didn't need to see who came into her condominium. There was only one person who would walk in so boldly and slam the door.

"Care to hear about it?"

Randy groaned and closed his eyes. He took off his suit jacket and hung it up on the coat rack beside the door. He felt an argument coming on, and to get out of another, he took off his shoes and placed them side-by-side on the door mat. Trish was positively anal about her white carpet and she had no trouble reaming anyone who dared walk on it with shoes on.

"Whatever, Trish."

"Don't whatever me." She continued to lay stretched out, staring up at the ceiling. "I thought it was rather interesting, despite the fact that it was disturbing as hell."

Randy sighed and looked down at her. The only sign that she was angry came from her burning stare upwards. He lifted her legs and fell down on the sofa, then dropped her legs across his lap. "Who called?"

"That's why it was disturbing. I don't know." She unclasped her hands and let her fingers tap against her stomach. "Didn't recognize the voice, but whoever this guy was, he had a lot to say about you."

"What the hell could anybody you don't know possibly have to say about me?"

"Oh, the usual... you're a disgusting, perverted human being. But I knew that already. The interesting thing was that this person told me I should ask you about your extra-curricular activities. Mainly, that I should ask you what happens back there in that VIP room when you disappear from the club. I thought that was really interesting."

"Trish, come on... I never thought you to be the jealous type."

"I'm not. I'm the possessive type." She sat up slowly, steadying herself with a hand on the back of the sofa. "I told you in the beginning, Orton. I don't share. If that's what you want, get somebody else."

"Why would I cheat on you, huh?" Randy turned to look at her. His right hand slid over his short-cropped hair, down the back of his head and slid over his neck. "Jesus Christ, you're the hottest thing in town. I got a good thing here. Why would I fuck that up?"

"Because you can?" She shrugged. "I know what you're up to, and the shit better stop. Despite what some assholes would tell you, a blowjob is considered cheating, and the second I get some concrete proof, your ass is out of here."

"Trish! I am not cheating on you!"

"Bullshit! Ya know what the disturbing part of this whole thing was? The fact that you can't hide your business better than that. Some fucking stranger knows what's going on, Randy. Christian never took me for granted, so why the hell do you?"

Randy withheld a growl. He was getting tired of her ex-boyfriend being brought up in every argument. The man was gone for good, and no amount of talking him up was going to bring him back from the dead. "What's the point in bringing him up? He was a fucking junkie and he fucked himself over. Is that the kinda man you want, Trish? A fucking junkie that can't handle his high?"

"Christian was not a junkie!" She threw her legs off of him and swung them around front. Trish stood up and stalked back and forth in front of Randy. "Somebody killed him, and we all know it. Yeah, he got caught up with the wrong people, but it was a mistake. Somebody shut him up and it's more than a little bit your fault."

"What!" Randy jumped up and stood in front of her, halting her steps. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means..." She looked up at him and glared. "He met those people at your club. You didn't warn him what he was getting into. Sometimes..." She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Sometimes, I think you got him messed up just so you could get me away from him."

"Now, that is just ridiculous!" He grabbed her by the arms and gave her a brisk shake. "What the hell is wrong with you! You're basically calling me a murderer! Do I look like a fucking murderer to you?"

"Honestly? I don't know what you look like, Randy." She jerked back away from him and turned her back to him. She still felt bad for dating him after losing Christian, but she had waited long enough. Randy had pursued, but she had mourned for a year after his death. She didn't think he would be mad at her. Christian always wanted her to be happy, but... there were times when she wondered.

"I'm not stupid, Randy," she said, her voice low. "Just because I shake my ass in a cage five nights a week, that doesn't mean that I'm stupid or a whore or some shit like that. I dance at that club because it makes me a hell of a lot more money than I would make doing damn near anything else. I could take my med tech license to any hospital and get a job. I dance for the money, and because I love the atmosphere."

Randy took in a deep breath and forced it out with a groan. "Is this going anywhere?"

"Yeah, Randy, it is." She turned to face him. The sadness over thoughts of Christian was replaced with a determined glare. "Don't you ever mistake me for some dumb bitch who sucks your dick in one of the back rooms of the club. I am not stupid. I am not a whore. I do things with a purpose, and it would behoove you to remember that. You are really fucking replaceable as far as I'm concerned."

Randy stared at her and didn't know what to say. Of course he'd gotten blowjobs in the back. Everybody did except for Dave, who was under the impression that his girlfriend would kick his ass. Everyone else was pretty sure of the same thing, though, so Dave wasn't being paranoid about it. Chyna wouldn't have taken the betrayal from him, and while Randy thought a little head in the back wasn't a big deal, he was starting to think that Trish might be thinking along the same veins as Chyna.

With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small dark vial. He held it up to the light and watched the white powder move back and forth inside as he tilted it to and fro. "Will this make things better?"

Trish glared at him. "I just sat here and ranted about Christian and..."

"And, you can handle your high. You need your high. That son of a bitch that called got you pissed off over nothing, and now it's time to relax. You don't wanna be stressed for work, do you?"

"I don't work for hours," she said, folding her arms. She fixed her lips in a thin line of defiance, but she couldn't stop her eyes from following the movement of the vial. She had to admit that she did need a little relaxation. If there was anything Randy was good at, it was relieving tension. He did it one of two ways... sex or cocaine. She didn't feel like touching him at the moment, so she would have to go for the second.

Growling, Trish snatched the vile out of his hand and knelt down in front of the long glass table in the center of the living room. She put a hand out and Randy rolled his eyes. He went to his jacket and pulled out his wallet. First, he handed her a platinum Visa. Then he took out a hundred dollar bill.

While Trish cut the powder into fine lines on the table, Randy rolled the bill into a slim tube. For the past six months, she'd been cutting her coke with a credit card and snorting with the largest bill Randy had in his wallet. Randy often wondered if it were all just for his benefit, to show him exactly how high maintenance she was. He didn't really care, though, because she was a good catch. Trish Stratus was, as far as he was concerned, the sexiest woman in Miami, maybe all of Florida. She moved he body in ways that he didn't even think was possible. And, almost the most important thing, she wasn't an addict. She used at parties, and when Randy brought it to her. She didn't waste his money on excessive drugs and he wouldn't have to worry about her moving up to track lines. She preferred her drugs with a rolled up hundred, not a needle.

Trish took the bill from him and put it to her nose. She sniffed in as she ran the bill along the line, then sat back. She closed her eyes and squeezed her nose, then shook her head. "Whew!" She shook her head again, then passed him the bill. "Don't think this makes me forget anything, though. I don't care how good the coke is. I don't forget a damn thing."


	4. Chapter 4

Chyna looked down as she tapped Dave on the head with flat side of four fingers. She laid on the bed with her knees bent, pressed against either side of Dave's waist. Her left leg slid down to flatten against the bed. Her right leg crossed over to be propped up on the small of his back. He wasn't sleep, she knew that. He just laid there, as he often liked to do. It wasn't so much a cuddle after sex as a complete collapse of his body. Chyna didn't mind, though, because it made her feel special. There weren't too many women who would have been able to sustain his body weight. 

Dave looked up at her with a groan. "What was that for?" He rested his chin in the valley between her breasts. His hand rose to the side of his head.

Chyna rolled her eyes. "I didn't even hit you that hard. I could do it again, though, if you want a real reason to complain."

He groaned again. "No thanks. Whatcha want?"

"I want you to get up. I've gotta get ready for work." Her head rolled to the side and she glanced at the glowing red digits of the clock. "As it is, I'm gonna be late and I don't feel like hearing Hunter's mouth."

Dave pressed his hands flat on the bed and pushed himself up. He didn't move to the side, though, preferring to stay pressed between her legs. He looked down at her and shook his head. "I'm part owner of the club, too, ya know. It's not owned by Triple H, it's owned by Evolution Enterprises."

"Yeah, well..." She turned back to look at him and shrugged. "Hunter's ego is large." She pushed herself up towards the head of the bed, then sat up, using her elbows to prop her body up. "Besides, he seems to think if he's having a bad day, he's got the right to take it out on me."

There had been a time when she would let him do that. She had cared enough about him that she would allow him to take his frustrations out by ranting to her, but that time was long gone. Those were the days before he hit it big. Back then, Hunter was just another club manager. He had his cockier moments, but he didn't have the money to back up the attitude. He didn't have the power.

Sometimes, she wondered if they would have still been together had he not gotten involved with Ric Flair, but then she realized she couldn't blame Flair for anything. The man was power, and she had already seen how Hunter was attracted to power. He had cheated on her with the daughters of powerful men. He treated them like princesses and used Chyna as his sounding board. No, even if Hunter were still just a club manager working for someone else, they would have broken up anyway. He was just too much of an asshole for her to handle.

Dave, though... he was another matter. He was an example that just because people worked together and, in some ways, considered themselves to be friends, they weren't exactly alike. The joke around was that he was faithful because she had put the fear of Chyna into him, but truth be known, she just didn't see anything in him that said that he was the cheating kind. He wasn't overly ambitious or greedy. He was just Dave.

Hunter had sought out men like Flair his entire life, the kind of men who wanted to conquer and rule. Randy was a rich kid playing with life. Daddy told him to get a job or lose his inheritance. He got a job and ended up making more than three time what his inheritance was worth. Dave, though... he just happened to be recruited. He didn't seek out the money or the notoriety. Flair stole him from a high-powered D.C. firm and put him in charge of the legal division at Evolution Enterprises. Within a few months, he had evolved to a partner in the venture of Club Evolution. He was a decent guy who didn't mind making a lot of money. He was just lucky as hell.

"Why don't you take the night off," Dave said with a sigh. He was privy to the history between Chyna and Hunter, and that hadn't stopped him from seeing her. He tried not to get caught in the middle of old feelings too much, but there were times it just couldn't be avoided. "I'll deal with Hunter."

"And what am I gonna do, huh?" She snorted a laugh. "Sad enough, there's nothing to do in this town but go to Club Evil."

He rolled his eyes and Chyna just laughed. The papers that hadn't been bought off by the entreprenuers were dubbing the place Club Evil, and it was catching on with their enemies. It just made everyone else more eager to get inside. "You can spend the night with me. We can go out to dinner or something. I own the joint. I don't have to be there every night."

"Yeah, but..." She sighed. "I'm not too trusting of all the bouncers. Some of 'em only work there for the flash of ass they get from a chick trying to get in. If they think they can get a quick fuck, they'll let anybody in. What's the point of having the hottest place in town if the hot crowds can't get in?" She shrugged. "Besides, you love being there to see your money come in."

Dave groaned. "Maybe..."

"Probably."

He growled. "Alright, so I do. I just don't feel like getting up. It's been a long day, and I'm not in the mood for more shit."

Chyna dropped back flat to the bed and rose a hand to Dave's cheek. "Still don't know who trashed your ride?"

"No." He turned his face in and kissed her palm. "And I'm getting tired of this shit." With a groan, Dave rolled to the side. Landing on his back, he stared up at the ceiling with burning eyes. "I've got not faith in the police to find out who did it. They hate us, so they don't care. We pay our taxes, and we deserve protection same as everybody else."

Chyna sighed and rolled onto her side. She propped herself up on one elbow. She put her other hand on his chest. "You're one of the hated elite. It pisses you off, but you'll have to get used to it. I could give you a long lecture about living a legit life, but I'm not a hypocrite. We all know what goes on in Club Evil, and we what we do anyway. We just have to get used to the fact that people are gonna be assholes about it." She leaned over and kissed his lips lightly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go shower."

He groaned. "I guess I should, too."

"You can shower after me, because if we do it together, neither of us will make it anywhere before the sun goes down." She smirked, kissed him again, then got out of the bed before he could wrap his arms around her and hold her in the bed. "I'll keep a better eye out on your car, though," she told him as she walked naked towards the bathroom. "If I catch the fucker, I'll kick his ass. How's that?"

Dave sat up and laughed. He watched her taut body sway with each step. He laughed again, and said, "It's better than nothing."


	5. Chapter 5

"How does it feel to have my job?" 

Stacy turned and narrowed her eyes at the man coming towards her. His black hair fell around his shoulders in stringy waves. Most of his face was covered by a large pair of black sunglasses. It was night, and she wondered how he could see anything. The night was hot, and she thought his black leather jacket was pretty much overkill, as well. He looked like he was trying to be intimidating, but all he did was make her shake her head at so many overt fashion faux pas.

"Excuse me?" She held her little black box purse tightly beneath her arm.

"How does it feel to have my job?"

She shook her head and sighed. "Do I know you?" She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "Your voice sounds familiar, but I can't really place it."

"Just like your old man." He shook his head and grinned. The turn of his lips made Stacy uncomfortable and she held back the urge to fidget. "Nose too high in the air to remember much of anybody."

"I'll have you know that I am not conceited. It's late, and I have no idea who you are. That being said... Say something I care to hear or get lost."

He moved in front of her and folded his arms. "Maybe you were too young, back then." He snorted a laugh. "It wasn't always Evolution Enterprises, ya know. Before your old man picked up a group of frat boys, it was Flair Unlimited. You were such a small thing, then. Still had the legs, just... not quite so much of 'em."

Stacy stared at the man, trying to remember him. Apparently, he had known her in the past, but she couldn't place him. She thought part of that could have been because he was freaking her out. If she were to rub her arms, she knew they would have been covered with gooseflesh. She could just imagine his eyes shining with mischief behind the sunglasses. The whole thing made her feel uncomfortable.

"I've never worked for anything but Evolution Enterprises, and whatever problem you have with my father has absolutely nothing to do with me." A small shiver shook her body and she cursed herself for being unable to control it. "My spot was vacant when I got it, so you obviously have me mistaken with someone else."

"It's the same building, sweetheart." Stacy shivered again. She didn't want this man giving her any terms of endearment, no matter how sarcastic they were thrown out. "Your office is the same one I had, and it's probably my same chair. If I were you, I'd watch my back. You never know when the cops'll be banging at your door."

Stacy furrowed her brow in thought, then her face lit up with realization. "Oh my God! You're... You're Bret Hart! You were arrested for embezzling millions from Dad's company!"

"Now, she remembers!" He put his sunglasses on top of his head to let her watch as he rolled her eyes. "That's an unlucky spot, Miss Keibler. People in the VP spot tend to have legal troubles."

"You know what? This is just getting ridiculous. You were the one that stole money from Dad's company. A jury found you guilty, so don't go and give me that 'Blame Flair' routine. I hear it more times than I care to. And now I remember where I know your voice." She took a step back and to the side, trying to move around him. "You keep calling my office!"

"My office! Your old man is going down. You tell him that. You make sure he knows that he and all of his cronies are going down under my hill. And you... well, by the time I'm through with them, there won't be anything left for you. Such a pretty thing... maybe I'll let you dance in one of the cages when I take over the club."

Bret reached out to touch her face, and Stacy stumbled back. Her purse fell out of her hands and she nearly tripped over her feet. Bret laughed and Stacy shuddered. She got back to her feet and held her head high. He knew that he unnerved her, but she wasn't going to show him anymore unease.

Stacy was already halfway to the front of the club when Bret came upon her, which meant that she should have been close enough to attract someone's attention. She moved to the side and Bret moved with her. She caught a splash of dark hair bustling through the crowd and waved her hand. Bret moved towards her and she dropped her hand. She stared at him with wide eyes, then ducked around to the other side, waving a little more frantically. Her purse fell again, and she bent down to pick it up. When she was back to her feet, they weren't alone.

Chyna didn't touch Bret. She stood behind him with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. "You have exactly ten seconds to leave the premises or I kick your ass, then give you to the big boys to work over until the cops get here."

He turned around and glared at her. "You wouldn't dare."

She smirked. "Now you've got five. Hit the bricks. I'm in a bad mood, Bretski and you're the perfect person for me to take my frustrations out on."

Bret growled at her, but Chyna stood his ground. If he thought he was going to scare her, he was sadly mistaken. Stacy couldn't think of one person that had managed to put fear in Chyna. As long as she'd been working at Club Evolution, she had been the one instilling the fear.

It may not have been fear that was put into Bret, but it was something. He turned back to Stacy and said, "Remember the message," then turned and left. When she was sure that he was really leaving, Stacy sighed and her body shook with the exhalation. She took a moment to collect herself then looked up at Chyna. "Thanks," she said softly. "That guy..."

"Is an asshole." She shook her head, then shrugged. "You're lucky we were expecting you. Ric said you were on your way, so I kept an eye out. With all the weird shit happening around here lately, we're keeping an eye on everybody."

"Is it getting like... dangerous?"

Chyna shook her head and turned. She waved Stacy forward and led her towards the club. "Not dangerous as much as annoying as hell. Shit like Hart, and the stuff with Regal last night. Dave's car getting trashed." She shrugged. "There's more, I hear, but nothing for you to really worry about. Next time, though, just pull up at the curb and skip the lot."

"Alright..." Stacy nodded to Chyna, then kept walking to the club. She had never been under the illusion that her father and his friends were well-liked, but she didn't think they were that hated. It was a scary thought, and she would definitely tell her father to be careful. Right after she told him about the scraggly haired weirdo with his leather jacket in the summer and sunglasses at night.


	6. Chapter 6

Trish watched Randy move through the club, heading towards the back door. Funny, she thought, two tall brunettes and a fake blonde had gone out that way, too. Even halfway across the room, Trish could see the women's roots that were in bad need of a dye job. Trish gripped the bars of her cage tightly and thrust her body back. She put her feet on the cage and thrust her mid-section up. Her neck stretched and her hair fell down her back. 

How high was he? She had to figure he was pretty loaded to actually be going off with a bunch of tramps where she was definitely able to see him. One of the VIP rooms always had free flowing alcohol and drugs, and from the daze Randy walked in, Trish could only guess that he'd had his fair share of X before the sluts of the night made their move.

She dropped down and thrust her back to the bars. She saw Chyna guiding Stacy towards the back and figured that the drugs would stop being passed, soon. While Trish was sure Stacy knew what went on back there, Ric insisted that it wasn't put so blatantly in her face. Trish could barely believe somebody so innocent had been spawned by Ric Flair.

Trish jumped up and gripped the wooden perch above. She pulled herself up, then split her legs. She slid onto the perch, a leg on either side, then turned upside down. The perch twirled and she swung herself up to sit along the bar, her hands holding the sides. She swung back and forth, her mind on Randy.

Was he really that stupid? She certainly hoped not. As firm as she was on her rule against cheating, she would really hate to have to break up with him. She wasn't the type that needed a man, but she liked to have one around. More than that, she liked having Randy around. In some ways... the passion of the relationship, the attention he gave her... she was reminded of her time with Christian. And yet, she was pretty sure that this was something more than what she had with Christian. She couldn't give a name to her relationship with Randy. She just knew that she liked it.

But, if he were going to casually go around chasing tramps, she would just have to live without him. She was sure that she could, especially seeing that he had nothing to do with her job. Hunter had hired her, and being the most popular of the dancers, he wasn't going to fire her just because she broke up with Randy. She would still have her money. She'd still have her condo. She'd still have her free pass to the VIP room for an occasional high.

"Trish!" She turned her head down to the Korean woman yelling up at her. "Hunter says you're out!"

"What?" Trish jumped down and groaned. "I've only been in here a couple of hours, Gail. I'm here 'til close."

"Yeah, well... Hunter said you're out and I'm in. Says you need a break."

"Uh huh." She opened the door and slid out of the cage. "What else did he say?"

"Go get Randy. He went out back to do something that Hunter won't say." Gail Kim climbed up into the cage and slammed the door. "All he said was Randy was fuckin' stoned out of his mind."

"Figures." Trish groaned and ran her hands through her hair. "I'll be back to break you in a couple of hours."

Gail nodded at her and Trish walked off. She didn't know what Hunter's game was, but knowing him, it wasn't nearly as humanitarian as he wanted Gail to think. He was probably just trying to get in her pants. Too bad being nice to her wasn't the way to do it, or at least that's what Trish had heard.

She wondered, as she pushed her way through the crowd, if Hunter had a plan to break them up. He had to know that she would dump him if she found his dick in some random bitch's mouth. Or maybe he just wanted to prove her wrong. She wouldn't put it past any of them, except maybe Dave, to make a bet on whether or not she'd really dump Randy. If she saw him doing what she thought he was doing, drugged out or not, the money would go to whomever figured she'd drop him right on the spot.

Trish shoved the door hard and stalked out. "Randy!" She looked around in the darkness, but didn't see anything. It was the night of the new moon, and the only light afforded her came from lamps perched feet apart atop the building. "Randy!"

He didn't answer her and she walked down the side of the building. She alternated between light and dark, her ears perked up for the sounds of drunken sex. Trish heard something and moved forward. "Randy?" She called out, but for some reason, her voice wasn't quite as loud. She heard a groan, and it didn't sound like sex. She wasn't sure what it sounded like, but it wasn't one of ecstacy.

"Randy, are you out here?" Something hit her foot and she looked down. Most of her body was in the dark, but the toe of her boot was on the outer edge of a circle of light. Something told her to pick up the broken piece of pipe laying before her. She bent down and lifted it, then kept walking.

Her arms were cold. She only wore a tight white tank top and very small vinyl shorts, laced together on the sides. The night air was warm, and the chill came from the inside. There were more groans, and then flesh smacking flesh. Trish's gut churned at the recognition of what was going on. Someone was getting a beating, and she had a good idea who it was.

She took off sprinting down the way. "Randy!" Trish wondered for a second where the sluts were that had come out with him. They could have at least come in to get some help. "They had better not show their faces around here again," she huffed, hurrying forwards.

Trish stopped short at the sight of someone straddling Randy's waist, hands high in the air. They were illuminated by the lamps above, and light flickered off of something shiny. The word 'blade' registered in her head, and Trish ran forward screaming, the thoughts of Randy's attempt at infidelity forgotten for the moment.

The man hovering over Randy turned. He paused for a moment as he saw Trish running towards him, holding the pipe high, ready to bash him away. He looked back at Randy, as if to wonder whether or not he could plunge the knife home before Trish made it to him. Deciding he couldn't, he got up and took off down the back lot.

Trish skidded to a halt beside Randy and dropped down to the ground. He was still conscious, groaning in pain. His face was bloody, as was his chest. She lifted his shirt quickly and was relieved to see that there were no pin pricks in his body. There was a shard of bone peeking through his skin, though, and that told Trish that he had at least one broken rib, possibly more.

Randy tried to sit up and Trish shook her head. "Be still," she told him, trying to figure out what to do. There was blood on her hands and she stared at it in shock. "Shit!"

"Who... was that?"

She shook her head. "I don't know." Trish took in deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate. "Alright... you've got a walkie, right? A Nextel walkie?"

Randy tried to take in a deep breath and let out a ragged scream. He weakly brought his hand up to his side. "Yeah," he said, after swallowing hard.

"Alright... Just be still. There's stuff broken in there." Forgetting that there was blood on her hands, Trish shoved her hair back behind her ears, then did her best to search Randy's pockets without causing him too much pain. She looked at the walkie and tried to remember what the numbers were for the inside. When she thought she had the right one, she dialed.

"What?"

Shit, she thought. She was going for Chyna and had gotten Hunter. Didn't really matter, though. "Get out back now!"

"Trish? What the fuck is going on?"

"Get out here!"

"You caught Randy with a hooker, didn't you? Everybody owes me money! She just kicked his ass!"

"Godddammit!" She looked down at Randy and growled into the walkie. "Fuck you, Hunter. He got his ass kicked, but it wasn't by me. It was by some guy with a big shiny knife, so get the fuck out here and do it now!"

Trish snapped the phone shut and resisted the overwhelming urge to throw it across the lot. She looked down at Randy and tentatively touched his shoulder. "They're on their way, and um... shit! They'll call the cops." Gently as possible, she searched Randy's pockets. The last thing they needed was for the cops to find drugs on him. Trish pulled out two small brown vials of cocaine and a small case filled with X. "Okay... I got this. And, um... they're coming and I'll give it to Hunter and..." Trish sighed and moved around to the top of his body. She sat down on the ground and carefully pulled Randy's head into her lap. "It'll be alright, Randy. And just... look on the bright side. You getting hurt just got you in trouble for taking the tramps out back."


	7. Chapter 7

"I told you already, I went out back looking for Randy and when I found him, there was this guy standing over him with a knife, ready to kill him. No, I didn't see his face. It was fucking dark and I was kind of preoccupied with the fact that he was trying to KILL my BOYFRIEND!" 

Trish rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall. She was tired and worried. There had been a string of threats coming towards the owners of Evolution Enterprises, but it had never gotten so out of hand. Busted cars and threatening letters, maybe a few fist fights, but this guy was serious. If she hadn't gotten out there in time... She shook the thought away.

"And there's absolutely nothing you can tell me about this guy?" Benoit looked down at his notepad and groaned. To have had an eyewitness, his paper was abnormally bare. "Not hair color? A distinguishing figure? Nothing?"

"Isn't that what I said? I was a little too worried about Randy actually dying to stop and draw a fucking picture." She turned onto her side and groaned. Her head rolled against the wall. "His hair was long?" She shrugged. "He was in the light, but my eyes weren't focused on him. I was staring at the knife. I just remember seeing hair whipping around when he ran off."

Dave walked up and inserted himself between Trish and Benoit. While his license to practice was still up to date, he usually left the legal work up to the legal division. At the moment, though, he was the only lawyer in the area and it made no sense to wait around for someone else to show up. "She's given you her statement, Detective. Unless you're planning to ask her a different question that might actually have an answer, leave her alone."

Benoit stood up straight and looked up into Dave's eyes. He fixed him with a glare that said that neither his eyes nor his size scared him in the least. "I would think you would want me to ask anything I could until I got an answer that might help."

"Or maybe you just don't want to do the real work." Dave folded his arms and stared down at the cop. "You've got a list longer than my johnson of people who have grudges against us. Why don't you go and find out if they have alibis, and then come back to bug the hell out of us. Right now, I think Trish would like to go in and see Randy."

Trish peeked around from behind and sighed. "If I remember anything else, I'll let you know, but right now, can I just go and see how bad off he is?" She wanted to say something a little more snide, but held her tongue. Benoit had been just another in the long list of people who hadn't believed that Christian was murdered. He probably hadn't cared. To her, he seemed not to care that much that Randy had nearly been killed, either. She lost one, and she didn't think she could take losing another.

Benoit looked past Dave to Trish and nodded. "If you think of anything else..." He pulled out a card. "Give me a call."

Trish took the card and shrugged. "As if I don't have enough of these." She stuck it in the side of her shorts, then pushed her way between the two men in front of her. She didn't really care about their staring contest. That was all bullshit as far as she was concerned.

After stopping at the desk, she made her way down the hall towards the small room Randy was in. She stood in the doorway and stared at him for a minute. Even from across the room, she could see that the right side of his face was swollen. A bandage covered his forehead and Trish knew there were stitches beneath it. She hoped that he wouldn't scar. His shirt was off, and white bandages wrapped around his mid-section.

Slowly, she walked forward. She took a seat beside the bed and lightly touched his hand. Randy groaned and his head rolled towards her. She bit her bottom lip and gave a nervous laugh. "You look like shit, Orton."

His right eye was swollen shut, but his left rolled at her. "Thanks, Trish. Your bedside manner is something to be envied."

"Yeah, I know." She turned away from him and stared across the room. "I guess that they didn't take blood?" She looked back at Randy. "I mean, I got the evidence off of you but... You know how Benoit is. He'd have probably had the narcs down here to put you in cuffs if they knew what was in your system."

"They always take blood." He groaned and started to sit up, which only made his groans louder. "We just happen to have friends in many places."

"You don't have any friends, Randy. You've got flunkies."

"Same difference." He pushed himself up more and Trish put her hand on his chest. He swiped her hand away and fought until he could sit up straight, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. "Get my shirt, will ya?"

"Huh?" She watched him trying to stand and shook her head. "No way, Randy. You're staying right here. Look at you, you can barely even sit up."

"Barely is enough. I'm sitting up, aren't I?" He tested the floor with his feet. "And where the fuck are my pants, huh? I swear, if those fucking idiots cut my shit off..." He planted his feet and tried to stand up. His legs started to buckle, but he caught himself on the bed before falling. Trish jumped up and put her shoulder beneath his arm to try and push him up. "Would you help me find my fucking clothes, please?"

With Randy so eager to get out of the hospital, Trish's worry was able to push itself down. She knew he'd be alright, no matter how bad he looked. It opened up room for her anger to come back. "Ya know what, Randy? I should just let you fucking fall. I should've let 'em find that shit on you, too."

"What the fuck..." He steadied himself and looked down at Trish. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You went out there with a purpose, Randy. You went out back to do whatever the fuck with those little bitches. I saw you follow 'em out, and what did they do? Cut and run when you need some help. They didn't even run back in to let us know. You're just lucky Hunter sent me out back to catch you in something. Or should I say someone?" She backed away from him and turned her back to him. "The least you could do is thank me for helping your sorry ass."

"Trish, come on. I wasn't thinking right. You know I've got more sense than to do some dumb shit like that." He didn't bother adding 'with you there' to the end. It would have been stating the obvious. "Is a thanks all you want? Then here it is... thanks for stoppin' that fuckin' lunatic from killing me. Thanks for thinking to pull the shit out of my pockets. Are you happy now?"

"I would be if you really meant it."

"Trish, I mean it. I wouldn't say it if I didn't."

She turned back to him and sighed. "Did you even see him? Get a good enough look at him to give a description?"

"Sorry, officer," he said sarcastically, "I was a little too busy getting my ass kicked." He groaned as he started to slip and pushed himself up with a grunt. "Fucker ambushed me. Came outta nowhere with a damn pipe. I didn't even get a look at him."

"You think he might try again?" She walked towards him slowly, then stopped. Out the corner of her eye, she saw his clothes and turned to pick them up. There was no point in arguing with him. If he wanted to leave, then he would leave. Trish took the clothes and tossed them on the bed. "Maybe staying here would be better? I mean, I doubt he'd come here and..."

"Nice try but no dice." He took the shirt and eased his arms into the sleeves. He didn't bother buttoning it. Too much movement too soon. He picked up his pants and let them unroll to the floor. "I'll just get some security or something. I'm not staying in this fuckin' rat trap."

Trish watched him try to put on his pants, and for a moment, took enjoyment in his pain. He deserved it for taking his drugged out ass in the back, anyway. After his third try, though, she got frustrated and went to help him. He didn't protest a lot, but he did grunt a few times to let her know that he didn't like needing the help. She cinched the pants at his waist, then stepped back.

"Fine, Randy. But, you're going home."

"Uh uh." He shook his head. "To the club."

"What?"

"To the club. I'm betting the other guys'll wanna talk about this and that's the safest place right now. Take me to the club and then... back to your place."

"My place?"

"Your bedroom's on the first floor. It's easier to get to."

She rolled her eyes and groaned. If he were difficult on a normal day, he was even more so when he was hurt. But, again, there was no point in arguing with him. Randy Orton was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to, when he wanted to do it. With a sigh, she found his shoes, helped him slip his feet inside, then walked him out of the room with a tentative arm around his waist. She just hoped that the others had gotten Benoit to leave. If Randy were going to get in an argument that night with anybody, it was going to be her. Not some cop with a hard-on for busting their asses.


	8. Chapter 8

Stacy sat in the car beside her father as they idled outside of the club. Everyone else had gone inside. Club Evolution had shut down when the cops arrived, but everyone was assured that it would be open again the next night. There was already a buzz going around, though none of the patrons had actually seen Randy Orton get put into the ambulance. Since they were all gone by the time they got back, they wouldn't see him being helped inside by Hunter and Dave with his face swollen, either. 

Stacy was afraid, but not for herself. Though there had been nothing definitive either way, something told her that Randy wasn't the only one that was in danger. Ric Flair had more enemies than any of his partners, and if one could come after Randy, she didn't see a reason that they wouldn't come after Ric, too.

Ric started to get out and Stacy put a hand on his leg. He turned to her and she wasn't sure exactly what she should say, if she should even say anything at all. She didn't want him to think that she was overreacting or anything, but she was worried about him. She was worried about all of the, really, but him in particular.

He was all she had left. Sure, she had brothers and sisters scattered over the country, but they had all found a reason to avoid Ric, and by extension, her as well. The only family she really had was Ric, and she couldn't imagine what things would be like without him. It had been just the two of them since she was thirteen. She thought that it would always boil down to just the two of them.

"Dad?" Stacy bit her lip, then sighed. "I, um... I want you to be careful, alright?"

"Stace..." He sighed and reached out to her. Lightly, his fingers brushed her cheek. "There's nothing for you to worry about, baby. I'm Ric Flair. Nobody's gonna hurt me. They're not that stupid."

"Randy would have said that, too." She shrugged. "If Trish hadn't found him when she did he'd be dead and... you're getting kind of old, Dad. You're not as quick as you used to be."

"Oh, now I'm old, huh?" He winked at her. "I'll have you know I'm still a kiss-stealin' son of a gun and Space Mountain runs..."

Stacy put her hands quickly over his mouth and shook her head. "Dad, please. You keep Space Mountain all to yourself. Daughters don't wanna hear that."

He rolled his eyes and pushed her hand down. "Then what do they want to hear?"

"That their parents will be safe."

"Stacy, I'll be safe. Don't worry about me. You just keep your mind on business, and everything will be fine."

"Maybe..." She sighed and leaned forward, pressing her elbows into her legs, just above the knee. "Dad? I think there's something I should tell you. I, um... I didn't tell that cop because, well... you always say not to offer them up anything and with Dave in super lawyer mode, I didn't think he'd really give me the chance to say it, anyway."

"What's going on, Stacy?" He gripped her arms and turned her towards him. "Did you see something tonight?"

"Well... I was getting ready to tell you when we got the call to go out back. I mean... it could've been him. Trish said the guy had long hair, right? But... I don't know. I got creepy vibes from him, but I really didn't think he was the killer type. And Chyna watched him go off in the other direction, and he'd have had to pass by the front again to get back there, wouldn't he?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about? Who did you see?"

"That guy... Bret Hart?" She sighed and sat back against the seat. "On my way in, he came up to me and said that I was in his office and that he was going to take you all down. But, he sounded more the corporate raider type, not the killer type, ya know?"

"Bret Hart?" Ric's body went rigid. "I thought I got rid of him," he muttered, then shook his head. "You're sure it was Hart."

"Oh yeah. He told me his name and Chyna identified him. She came over and made him go away, then led me into the club. You don't... you don't think he was the one that attacked Randy, do you? Because if he did, I really should've told Benoit. I just... he was starting to get on my nerves with all his questions, and I really didn't think he'd do anything about it."

Ric shook his head and let his body relax. "No. It's fine. Benoit couldn't stop an old woman from walking across the street. He wouldn't have cared. Besides, he'd have probably just thought I put you up to implicating somebody who caused us trouble."

"But... what if it was him, Dad? What if he's a complete nutjob and he comes after the rest of you? What if he comes after Randy again. What if..." She gulped. "What if he comes after me?"

"Don't you worry about him." He cupped her cheek and smiled. "You're perfectly safe. This has nothing to do with you. So, you don't worry, alright? Just go home and get some rest."

"But..."

"But nothing. I'm going in here and we'll have a talk, and then... If it makes you feel any better, I'll come by your place tonight to show you that everything's alright. Somebody'll get caught soon, and then there won't be anything to worry about."

Stacy looked at him and sighed. His voice... he was trying to calm her, but he only served to worry her even more. While Stacy may have thought the world of her father and she chose not to believe the majority of the things printed about him in the papers, she was under no delusion that her father was the perfect legal citizen. He did bad things, and he did what he thought was necessary to reach his goals. If his goals were to punish the person who attacked Randy, then she didn't doubt that he would do it. She worried, though, that this would end in something he couldn't fix.

"I don't want you to go to jail, Dad."

"Jail? What are you talking about, jail?"

"Just... let the cops handle this one, alright? Don't go and do anything..." She stopped and thought. Stupid? Her father never did anything stupid, but that didn't mean it was the most intelligent thing to do either. "Don't do anything that Dave can't get you out of."

Ric sighed. "Alright. I won't do anything that Dave can't get me out of. Happy?"

"No. But it's about the best I'm gonna get." She shrugged. "Go on and have your meeting. Come by if you want, but I'll probably already be asleep. You've got the key, right?"

"Yeah. Now, just... get some rest and I'll see you at the office in the morning."

She nodded. Stacy leaned over and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then turned to stare out the window. She heard the door close, then told the driver to take her home. Ric had done his best, but he wasn't able to really ease her mind. The only thing that would do that would be the cops bringing in Randy's attacker. Then she would know that the rest were safe.


	9. Chapter 9

"Your old man's gonna kill us all if he sees you in that cage. Out, right now." 

Hunter looked up at Stacy and while his words were curt, his lips were curled up in a smirk. Three days after Randy's attack, the police still didn't have many leads. They had spoken with Regal, who had an alibi. There were at least four nurses who stood by him, saying that he hadn't left the hospital at all that night. All of their known enemies and competition had airtight alibis. The only one who seemed possible was Bret Hart, but he logged on and shown on camera at a nearby cyber café.

Stacy had finally gotten the chance to report her interaction with Hart, and Benoit was none too happy that she had left it for so long. She had only told him after their other leads met dead ends. She was the kind of person who wanted to think the best of people, and while Bret Hart wasn't exactly friendly, he just hadn't come off as the attempted murderer type. When he was cleared, she was more than a little relieved. She would have hated to have been somehow an accomplice because she hadn't said something sooner.

Of course, the others weren't exactly believing that Hart was as innocent as the police. They thought he could have at least been behind it. Maybe he hired someone to do it. In the time that he worked for Flair, he had come into contact with quite a few unsavory types, and he could have had any of them put a hit out on Randy. Just to be sure, Hunter had put some security people on him. They kept tabs on Hart, and if he did anything else suspicious, then he was in for some trouble.

In the meantime, though, there were still businesses to be run. Branches of Club Evolution were being opened in New York, Los Angeles, Detroit and Dallas. A restaurant endeavor was starting in Paris. They were even considering buying a sports team, if they could just decide if they wanted to be involved with the NFL or the NBA. They didn't have the freedom to shut down everything until Randy's attacker was caught.

"Stacy, I'm serious." He looked up as she lifted one of her long legs and rested her heel against the bars of the cage. Hunter was quick to close his eyes. Stacy wasn't his type. She was too sweet and pure, and he preferred his women to be one of two things... smartass or easy. Stacy was neither, though she did occasionally come close to smartass. That was the Flair in her. However, he couldn't deny she was sexy and watching her limber movements put thoughts in his mind that would send his business partner straight into a coronary. "Get out of the cage, now, Stacy."

She sighed and put her leg down slowly. She knew she wasn't a professional dancer, at least not the type for the cage. Her father had gotten her ballet and tap lessons when she was younger, but that was as far as her dancing talents went. She didn't even want to do it really, not full-time like Trish and the others did. She took her occasional turns in the cage to relieve stress, and with what was going on lately, she definitely needed to get rid of some stress.

"Dad won't know if you don't tell him," she said, kneeling down so that she was face-to-face with him.

He grunted. "Uh huh. And what happens when he goes up to that glass office and looks down? He'll see you in the cage. I'm not in the mood to argue with him. I said you could get in the cage when he wasn't around or when he was occupied. He won't be occupied for too much longer, so out of the cage."

Stacy pouted and sighed, letting her body slump forward. "Fine," she said, standing back up. "I wasn't exactly dressed to spend all night in here, anyway." She wore a blue denim one-piece that ended at the top of her thighs in shorts. Hunter had been well aware that when she rose her leg, she showed a lot more than Ric would have been happy about.

Stacy opened the cage door and Hunter sighed with relief. "Thank you. We've got enough trouble around here without your old man going on a rampage. When you're out, close the door."

"Nobody's coming in?" She sat on the bottom of the cage with her feet dangling down.

"Trish is still out with Randy. It's Dawn Marie's night off, but she's on her way in. She'll take the cage for the night, and you won't be in anyone else's cage. Got me?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes and let her feet swing. "Can I at least just sit here 'til Dawn shows up?"

Hunter was quiet for a minute, then sighed. Stacy had her father's stubborn streak and he knew it. She would have done it anyway. "Fine, but if Ric sees you and asks, tell him it was your idea. I told you to stay the hell away from the cages when we're open for business."

Stacy grinned at him and Hunter turned away. He pushed his way through the club, trying to get his mind off of Stacy and onto business. He'd been so upset since Randy's attack that he'd almost let an over-priced repair bill slip past him. Yes, Hunter liked to spend money, but only on deserving things. As far as undeserving went... he'd already shown what he did to things that were unworthy. The word was out on the street that the chicks who left Randy to the wolf out back were personae non grata at any establishment owned by Evolution Enterprises. Randy didn't remember their names, but Hunter did. He didn't remember faces too often, but names stuck in his head.

As he moved through the crowded dance floor, he felt something bump his arm. He looked up into a wide grin. The guy wore sunglasses, but he knew that he wasn't looking at him. His attention was directed to Stacy as she sat with her legs swinging from the bottom of the cage. She leaned back and stretched, then sat forward again.

"Hey!" The man turned to Hunter and his grin didn't drop. "What the fuck are you staring at?"

"Isn't that what cage girls are for? To stare at?"

"Who the fuck are you, anyway? She's not a fucking cage girl. And... you're one creepy mother, you know that? Get the hell out of my club."

"Oh, come on now." His grin seemed to grow wider and it annoyed Hunter. He wanted to hit him, but there was enough trouble going around. He didn't need an assault charge on top of everything else. "I paid my cover and everything." He lifted his hand and showed Hunter his glass. "Even paid for your overpriced drinks."

"What..." Hunter shook his head. He couldn't believe this guy was actually talking shit to him. Hell yeah the drinks were overpriced. The whole damn club was overpriced, but people still paid for it. "Get the fuck out of my club!" He pulled out his Nextel walkie and said, "Tomko! Across from the cage near Cena's table. Now." He flipped the phone shut and looked at the grinning annoyance before him. He snatched the glass from his hand.

Tyson Tomko came up and stood with his arms folded. The long, shaped beard hanging down from his chin was stiff. Hunter looked up at him and groaned. He was going to have to talk to him about that. The thing was just disgusting.

"Tomko," Hunter said, "get this jackass out of here and make note of his face. He's not allowed back in here. If he comes near the door, kick his ass and toss him in the street."

"Not the way to win friends and influence people, Helmsley."

Hunter had started to walk away, then turned back to the nuisance. "What the fuck did you say? Do I look like I give a damn about winning friends? Especially your type? Get the fuck out of my club and if I see you again, I'll kick your ass myself."

He laughed and Hunter just shook his head. He watched as he was dragged out by Tomko. "What the fuck is wrong with that guy?" he wondered. Nobody was every happy to be put on Club Evolution's blacklist. That guy was definitely strange. Staring like that...

He growled and pulled out his walkie again, calling Tyson Tomko back once he had done his duty. The big man stood in front of him, looking every bit the stereotypical bouncer, right down to his tattoos. "Stand here and keep an eye on her," he said, jerking a thumb back towards Stacy. "When Dawn Marie gets here, Stacy gets the hell out of that cage and you take her directly up to the office. Got me?" Tomko nodded. "Good. Now, do your damn job. I'm tired of fucking weirdos getting into my club." He stormed off, wondering just when the bullshit would stop and the ownership of the club would get back to being fun.


	10. Chapter 10

Ric Flair's house was more an estate than anything else. In a small, reclusive suburb just outside of Miami, an eternally bright green lawn sprawled over four and a half acres of land. A long paved drive led from the gates to the house seated in the center of the property. The house was white with large windows that spanned over 7,000 square feet. 

Ric pulled up through the back of the property and parked at the top of the rear drive. He held his phone tightly against his head as he walked, arm swinging. His briefcase tapped against his leg as he strode past the pool, grotto and man-made waterfall. 

"He's right. It's over," he said as he approached the sliding glass doors. He turned left and headed to the back door. "Whoever attacked Randy is long gone. Haven't heard a damn thing about it since." 

Ric punched in the security code, the day of Stacy's high school graduation, and gripped the doorknob. "No shit," he said, twisting and pushing the door in. "The cops have given up, but we're not. Call in all our connections, Hunter. Find that jackass. I'm going to work on him with a pair of pliers and a blow torch." 

He laughed as he moved inside, closing the door behind him. "Yeah, great movie, wasn't it?" He laughed again, then shook his head. "We'll teach this guy not to fuck with us." He paused and locked the door behind him. "I'm inside, and I still have to call Stacy before I turn in. She's working late. I'll talk to you tomorrow." 

Ric flipped the phone closed and stuffed it into his pocket. He turned around into the darkness of his kitchen, and started to walk forward. He moved through the den and turned down a long hallway leading to his office. He took two steps forward, then was hit in the back of the head twice, hard. He fell to his knees. His briefcase hit the floor. One more blow, and he was face down, unconscious. 

When Ric came to, he was in the living room, stripped down to crisp white boxer shorts. He tried to move and his back screamed. He slowly rose his head to see his hands tied together, attached to the overhanging banister above. He looked down and the tips of his toes touched the floor. 

The rays of the moon came in through the window and lit Ric in a glowing circle of light. His attacker was just out of reach and view. Only the tips of his black, steel-toed boots were inside the circle of light. "Who the fuck are you?" 

"Isn't that the question of the millenium." His laugh was dark and sinister. "Wouldn't you like to know. Randy wanted to know, too, and he would have if his bitch hadn't shown up when she did." 

Ric squinted his eyes, trying to see into the darkness. Maybe if the room were pitch black... The light coming from outside inhibited his night vision. "You..." 

"A pair of pliers and a blow torch, huh?" He smirked. "Not very inventive there, Ric. But, then again, we all take the best parts of some things." 

"What? What the hell are you talking about? You had better let me down from here." He jerked his body hard, hoping to break something to get free. He would have fallen, but he would have been at a better advantage than he was at currently. "I'm Ric Flair, goddammit! You'll wish you were in Hell when I'm through with you!" 

"Yeah, yeah, you're Ric Flair. Damn, we hear that a lot, don't we?" He snickered. "Back to movies, though, since you like movies." 

Ric bucked his body to no avail. Whatever was holding him up there was tight. No matter how hard he pulled, he couldn't get free. All he did was send his body into even more agonizing pain. "Let me down, goddammit!" 

The man stepped into the light, covered from head to toe in blue. He looked like he was ready for surgery and the knife in his hand should have been a scalpel. The only thing that showed was his pale face and bright, sadistic grin. Even his eyes were covered by a pair of thick plastic safety goggles. 

"Ever seen Murder By Numbers, Ric?" He moved closer and twisted the knife so the light bounced off of the blade. "No hair samples were found. Nothing attaching the killers to the victim. It was really pretty clever." 

"What the fuck are you babbling about!" Ric jerked again. "And get the fuck away from me! I'll kill you when I get down, you hear me! I'll grind your bones into fucking dust and pass you around. We'll smoke your filthy, cowardly ass up and no one will ever know that you even existed!" 

"Talk it up, Flair." He stepped forward, closer to him, still twirling his knife. "This is your last speech, and all. Make it a good one." 

"I'll kill you!" 

"You've already said that!" He rushed him and stared up into his face. He was tall enough that even with Flair dangling, his head came up to his chin. "Say something new. Or... shut up and let me talk." He snickered and moved back an inch. "Only difference between now and Murder By Numbers is... they had an obsessive Sandra Bullock on their tail with a score to settle. You, my enemy, my friend... You only have Detective Chris Benoit. He could give less than a damn if you died." 

"Evolution will destroy you, your mother, your father, your whole fucking family! Future generations of your family will feel the pain!" 

Though the knife was so close to him, Ric wouldn't show his fear. He could see enough through the plastic to glimpse anger, enraged eyes, but still he didn't cower. If this was going to be the end of the line, he was going out like a fucking storm trooper. There was no fear in Ric Flair, not for this cowardly man who hid behind a mask. 

"There will be no Evolution, Ric. They're all going to fall. I'm going to finish off Orton and... by now..." He stopped and turned to look at the grandfather clock chiming against the wall. "...Helmsley and Batista should be incinerated. No one left to care but poor little Stacy. Gorgeous little Stacy of the long legs. Maybe I'll let her dance for me in a cage." 

For only a second did Ric let fear well up in him, and it was quickly replaced by anger. This guy could do all he wanted to him, but he didn't want him touching Stacy. She was an innocent. She was not apart of whatever had gotten him into this mess. 

"You touch her and I swear to God, I will kill you." 

"It'll have to be as a ghost Ric because..." He stepped up to him and pressed the tip of the blade against his lower gut, right above the drooping line of his underwear. "...you won't be alive to do anything else." 

He plunged the knife in deep. Blood poured over his hand and Ric screamed. He only laughed and drove the knife in deeper. He leaned in closer, enough so to speak to Ric but not let any part of his body touch his. "I'll say hi to Stacy for ya." Ric screamed again, this time with rage. The knife was ripped up his body, slicing through his internal organs. It came to stop as it knicked against his rib. The knife was pulled out, then plunged deep into Ric's chest. 

The murderer pulled it out and watched the blood swirl down the steel, coat his gloved hand, then drip to the floor. He stepped back and picked up Ric's cell phone. He dialed a quick number then said, "Say goodbye to Daddy," and hung up. He hurled the phone against the wall, walked into the kitchen to wash his blade, then casually walked out the back of Ric's home, whistling a non-distinct tune. 

...go back 


	11. Chapter 11

"Alright, then." Hunter stepped outside and looked around. It was late, and he was tired, but not so tired that he ignored the random women hanging off of either of his arms. He planted a sloppy kiss on either of them, then looked to his left. "In the morning, Dave, put in the calls." 

Dave looked at him and rose an eyebrow. "I'd think Randy would want to do that. He's the one that got fucked up." 

Hunter shrugged. "He said tell him when we find him, and then let him know. For now, though, he's got enough problems. Trish keeps swearing it's not over and he's gotta do what he has to do to be safe." 

Dave rolled his eyes. "She got more phone calls?" 

"A couple, but mostly, it's the dreams." Hunter pulled his dates closer against his body, then snickered. "She thinks she's psychic now. Madam Triska," he said in a very bad accent, "we must call her now." 

Chyna looked around from the other side of Dave and gave both men the finger. She felt bad for the blonde dancer. She had already lost one boyfriend and nearly lost another. She thought Dave might have been a little more sensitive since he was less of an asshole than Hunter. He hadn't said anything too rude, yet, but if he hung around Hunter enough, he would. 

"Both of you need to piss off." She pulled away from Dave and started walking backwards across the sidewalk. It wasn't too late at night, and there was still a line leading halfway down the block of people who hoped they could get inside before last call. She had the rest of the night off, courtesy of Dave, and she planned to spend it at home, not listening to Hunter talk shit in the street. 

"What?" Hunter looked at her and shrugged. "The woman's fuckin' psycho with the paranoia shit. It's over. Nobody's heard a damn thing from this sick fuck in days. It's over." 

"Yeah, well, Trish is still feeling it. I know it's hard for you, Hunter, but try to have some sympathy for somebody other than yourself." She rolled her eyes. "Dave, toss me the keys!" 

He reached in his pocket, shaking his head, and tossed her the keys. He didn't say anything about Trish because he was on Hunter's side in that argument. He thought Trish was overreacting and that everything was alright. He planned to get laid that night, and he knew if he pissed off Chyna, that wasn't going to happen. 

Hunter turned away from him and looked around the crowd. He spotted a small guy who worked the front door, mostly going down the line to find fake ID's. He hired him on a joke, seeing as how he looked to be under 21 himself. "Hey, kid!" He turned towards Hunter and ran over. "Shannon Moore, right?" 

"Yeah," he said with a nod. He pushed long blonde hair behind his ear. "Need something Mr. Helmsley?" 

"Wanna make a hundred bucks?" 

"Sure!" 

Hunter tossed him his keys. "Go over there and get my car." Shannon caught the keys and Hunter pulled out a hundred dollar bill. Shannon was already half across the street when he called out, "Get it to me in the next sixty seconds without peeling rubber and I'll throw in an extra hundred!" Shannon sped across the let faster. 

Dave's Roadster was parked only a few lanes up from Hunter's car, and Chyna was over halfway there. She twirled the keys on her fingers, walking slowly to the car. She looked to the side and saw Shannon running towards Hunter's Escalade. By the time she reached the driver's side, Shannon was already behind the wheel. Chyna dropped the keys and bent over. Shannon started the car. 

An explosion ripped through the night. Fire sored high up in the air. The blast was so loud, and Chyna was close enough that her ears were ringing. She stood up slowly and stared with blinking eyes at the wreckage. She heard muffled footsteps and non-descript voices and turned to see Dave running towards her. As she turned, she saw a piece of metal flying towards the car. It was a piece of Hunter's front hood and it embedded itself into the gas tank of the Roadster. The piece was still on fire. 

Dave rushed her, tackling her to the ground with a spear so hard it sent them both flying a few feet away. Chyna still could barely hear and her body was shaking with the shock of being so close to the explosion. Dave's hands were rough on her as he picked her up around the waist and practically dragged her away from the wreckage. They were halfway across the street when another explosion rocked the street. Dave turned to see his Roadster go up into flames. Debris was coming down everywhere, and more than just his and Hunter's cars were gone. 

"Son of a bitch!" He was on his knees, knocked to the ground by the explosion. He turned back to look at the people across the street. Everyone was screaming. Hunter fuming. Someone was on the phone, calling the cops he suspected. He remembered that kid, Shannon, and turned back to Hunter's car. There was no way in hell he had survived that. "Shit!" 

Chyna pushed herself shakily to her feet. Slowly but surely, her hearing was returning. She reached down and took Dave's hand, pulling him up. "That kid..." She shook her head. "That kid's dead." 

"I know." 

"That was meant for Hunter." 

"I know." 

"Five'll get you ten there was one in your car, too." 

"Had to be." He turned and, holding her wrist, stalked to the sidewalk where Hunter was swearing he was going to kill someone. "The tank was damn near empty." 

"That explosion was too big for an empty tank." 

"I know." 

Chyna looked up to him and shook her head. She groaned, rolled her eyes, then said, "Care to tell me again how much this is all over?" 

...go back 


	12. Chapter 12

Stacy clutched the wheel of her Mercedes so tightly her knuckles turned white. She couldn't get that voice out of her head. "Say goodbye to Daddy." There was humor in the words, and she could almost imagine a grin... almost because she couldn't identify the face. If she knew the face, she would have been able to see the sick, degenerative smile that accompanied those foreboding words. 

She hadn't thought when the line went dead. She ran on her instincts, which told her to get to Ric's place as fast as she could. She barely remembered to grab her purse as she burst out into the night. She slipped twice, running so fast that her heels nearly gave way beneath her as she zipped across the grass, then the oil slickened parking lot. Her hands shook so hard she dropped the keys three times before she got into the car and sat behind the wheel. 

Once she was actually on the road, she tried to call her father's house. She waited, hoping that this was all some cruel prank that someone was playing on her. She wanted him to pick up and tell her that she was being paranoid, that he was almost asleep when the phone rang. But he never picked up, no matter how much she wanted to. Each time the ringing disintegrated into the answering machine message her stomach twisted in knots. He was supposed to have called her already. 

He never called. 

He didn't answer. 

Stacy leaned on the horn and screamed. Her windows were up and the air was blasting. She knew the person in front of her couldn't hear, but she screamed anyway. "The light is green! Come on!" She leaned harder on the horn until the car drove off. She sped down the street, zipping around cars, manuevering through traffic. She didn't care how much over the speed limit she was going. She just had to get to her father's house. 

A red light stopped her and she wondered if she could get away with running it. On the one hand, she was pretty sure that there were no police around, but on the other, she couldn't afford to be pulled over. She always did everything the right way, and though it would annoy her to stop when the lights started flashing, she knew she would. 

She pushed forward the second the light changed and started shouting out numbers. When Ric had the hands-free voice activated phone installed in her car, she thought it was going overboard. She was supposed to have the best, but she didn't think it was necessary. Right then, though, she was glad it was there. 

"Hunter!" Stacy screamed in the car, again weaving around cruisers going way too slow for her to be in such a rush. She waited and there was no answer. "Dammit!" She jerked the wheel to the right and moved in front of a lumbering bus. She hung the call up then said, "Dave!" Nothing again. "Randy!" Again, no answer. "Trish!" Nothing. "Chyna!" 

She screamed in frustration and slammed her hands against the steering wheel. As a last ditch effort, she tried Ric's again. "Daddy!" She waited through the ringing, and no answer. The answering machine picked up and at the beep, she cried, "Dad! It's Stacy! Daddy, come on, if you're there, just pick up. I've tried your cell. I've tried everybody..." She paused for a second as she approached another red light. 

This time, she didn't care. She actually hoped that there were police around to chase her. The drive out to Ric's house was over an hour, and nearly there, she had done it in half the time. "Daddy, please, answer the phone! You're scaring me! Please, I'm begging you to pick up the phone! I'm on my way, but I still want you to answer. PICK UP THE PHONE, DADDY, PLEASE!" 

The message disconnected and she screamed. Tears poured freely out of her eyes, blinding her. She wiped her eyes enough to see, though the tears still streamed out. She swerved before hitting a group of people crossing the street. "Go to bed!" she yelled as she rushed past them, wondering what the hell people were doing out when there was obviously an emergency. 

Stacy flew through three consecutive red lights before sirens sounded. Part of her wanted to pull over, but she knew they wouldn't shut up long enough for her to explain. She thought she should have called 911 anyway, but her mind wasn't focused on getting anyone else there. She was focused on getting herself there. 

Her stomach lurched as more sirens sounded behind her. Good, she thought. Something told her that they would all be needed. She wanted the police there when she arrived because something wasn't right at all. Something terrible had happened and the police needed to deal with it. 

She jerked the wheel hard and the Mercedes lifted slightly off the ground as she rounded the corner. Ric's house was in the middle of the street, but his land was so vast, he really couldn't call anyone on either side neighbors. Stacy wondered why she was just thinking of that. Was there a need for him to scream? Would someone have heard the mysterious caller going in or coming out of his house if he weren't so isolated? How did she even know he called from Ric's house? She didn't have an explanation, she just knew, sure as she knew that those police cars following her would be needed. 

Stacy rolled the window down as she got closer to the drive and pulled the gate remote from the passenger side visor. It was another expensive device that Ric had installed and Stacy had thought to be useless. Again that night, she was glad that he wasted his money on so many gadgets. 

By the time she actually reached the gates, they were open enough to zoom inside. She pressed hard on the gas and surged up over the small rising hill, then slid down the other side. The car stopped with a screech and she didn't even bother turning the car off. She kicked off her shoes and jumped out running, heading towards the front of the house. 

Stacy banged on the door. "Daddy!" she screamed. "Daddy, it's Stacy! Open up!" She cupped her hands and peered inside. She could see a shadow, but nothing clear. She thought she saw Ric and started banging again. "Daddy! Open up!" 

The police were pulling up behind her car and she turned back. Her eyes passed the Mercedes and she screamed, "Dammit!" She couldn't get inside. Her keys were still in the car, keeping the engine humming. She looked around, ignoring the yelling police. Ric never left a spar key so that was out. She tried to pick up a porcelein flower pot beside the door but couldn't lift it. 

Screaming with frustration, she turned and ran to one of the police officers. He was screaming something to her, but she wasn't listening. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the door. "Break it open!" 

He looked at her in confusion. "What?" 

"Break it down! It's my father's house! I know... I know something's wrong and..." She screamed and reached down, grabbing at his gun. He tried to shove her back, but her grip was tight and she was filled with adrenaline. She jerked the gun out of the holster and pointed it at the window. It wouldn't fire. "Damn safety!" She turned to the cop and noticed the others had their guns out, pointing at her. "Shoot the glass! I have to get in!" 

The officer shook his head and she jerked him closer. "Look!" She peered inside and she was sure of it. She saw Ric hanging. She saw him in the circle of light. She saw blood on him. "Shoot the fucking glass!" She didn't use much hard profanity, but the moment just called for it. 

She thought the officer saw what she did because he stepped away from the glass. He called two larger officers over and they tried to break down the door. The thick maple only groaned beneath their weight. Stacy stood at the window, hitting it with her fists. Her tears poured out so fast that they dripped down to wet her silk blouse. "Shoot the glass!" 

The officer she'd jerked looked at her in confusion, then shook his head. "Move back!" he screamed at her, then turned to the others. "Call back up," he said, then looked back at the glass. He fired six rounds, emptying his revolver. The groupings of bullets shattered the glass, but it didn't fall. 

Stacy, full of fear and adrenaline, ran to the glass. She wasn't thinking that she'd get hurt. She wasn't thinking that she could fall or get cut or anything else. She ran as quickly as she could and jumped at the glass. It splintered where her shoulder hit it, and she jumped back. She moved back to the window and beat at it with her fists until her hands were bloody. But the glass fell enough for her to climb inside. 

Her shirt was shredded as she climbed into the broken window. Glass bit into her skin and she felt blood start to flow down her arms and stick her blouse to her skin. She got inside and broken glass crunched and scraped the bottoms of her bare feet. It didn't stop her. She ran forward, praying that it wasn't as bad as it looked from the outside. 

She came nearer to the circle of light and her eyes wouldn't focus. She caught flashes of red against pale skin, white hair, slack muscles. She tried to stop running, but her speed and the blood beneath her feet made her slide. She only stopped when she smacked hard against Ric's body. 

Stacy fell backwards and still, she could barely focus. She stood up and stared at her hands. There was blood on them. She looked down to the floor to see more blood. Her face was sticky and she knew it was blood. Slowly, her vision cleared and shapes took form. She saw Ric Flair, eviscerated, covered in blood and thicker bodily fluids. 

Stacy Keibler not only saw her father's dead body, but realized she had run smack into it. She dropped hard to her knees and screamed. 

...go back 


	13. Chapter 13

"What would Christian think?" 

The question and clicking tongue got rid of any high that Trish had left. She sat up straight in the bed and shook her head. For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating. Why would a stranger call her house and talk about Christian? But then, he asked the question again and Trish blinked. 

"Who is this?" 

"You'll find out." His tongue clicked again. "After what happened to Christian, I'd think you'd be a little smarter. I don't think he'd like to see you powdering your nose on a regular basis." 

She jumped out of the bed. The voice was eerie. As her mind cleared, she recognized it as the same person who had called her before, warning her about Randy's fidelity issues. However, that wasn't what sent shudders through her body. There was a humor in the voice of this stranger. He sounded as though he were amused by what he was saying. 

"Are you the one?" She wanted to scream, but her words came out in a hush. "Are you the one that killed Christian?" 

"Me? Kill Christian?" His laugh was loud and bitter. "Oh, no, Trish. You did that all on your own." 

"What?" 

"You killed Christian." 

"No, I didn't!" She whirled around and stared at the bed. In the dark, she saw Randy's bruised and battered body rise slowly from the bed. She saw a flash of silver and for a minute, she panicked. She flashed back to seeing him in the alley, someone hovering over him with a knife. He started to talk and she relaxed. It was only his cellphone. 

"Don't worry." There was a low snicker. "You didn't miss the phone." 

"What?" 

"He put it on vibrate, remember? Wouldn't want to disturb you while you ruined another life." 

"I didn't ruin..." She stopped and shook her head. "Wait a minute... how do you..." Trish ran to the window and peered out. She couldn't see anything, and she doubted anyone could see in. Her nearest neighbor was barely visible, and to stare at her from the nearest building, someone would need a high-powered lens. 

"Are you looking for me?" Another laugh. "By the way, nice ass. I can see why Christian stayed with you. Though... whether or not you were really to die for is a completely different question." 

Trish whirled around. Randy's voice was raised, but she couldn't understand what he was saying. She stole a glimpse and saw him moving around the room, grabbing clothes and throwing them on the bed. Her head swiftly jerked back forward and she stared across the room. 

"Nice rack, too, saline though it may be. Again... not exactly to die for." 

Trish stepped forward, barely listening to the phone anymore. He had a view of her that could only have come from one place. Inside the condominium. She rushed forward and, still holding the phone, started throwing things from the dresser across from her. She peered at the mirror and saw nothing but her own haggard reflection. She gripped the wooden top of the rounded mirror tightly, and still the voice droned on in her ear. 

"You do know he died for you, don't you? He died because you wanted to live this good, lavish life and you would have tossed him to the side if he couldn't afford you. He died fucking around with the wrong people so you could have your Prada shoes and Louis Vitton. He died because you didn't love him poor." 

"Shut up!" She jerked on the mirror. "Shut up!" 

"He died because you didn't give a shit about him!" 

"Shut up!" She jerked again. "I loved Christian!" 

"No, you didn't! You killed him, you strung out little bitch! Christian's dead! It's all your fault, and you're next! You'll fucking wish you went as easy as Flair!" 

Trish screamed and hurled the telephone across the room. She screamed, "I didn't kill Christian!" She pulled hard on the mirror and it detached from the back of the vanity table to fall forward in her hands. The weight of it was so much that she nearly dropped it. She turned and struggled with the mirror, then stopped as she saw black tape against the back. Carefully, she peeled the tape back and detached the wire that led up to a small camera inserted through a whole in the top of the wood. 

Trish laid the mirrror down and turned slowly to Randy, holding up the camera to him. He was staring at her with confusion. "Somebody's been in my house." 

"What?" 

She pushed the camera to him and he took it. "Somebody's been watching us. He's... he's watching us right now." 

Randy glared into the tiny camera and said, "Watch this, motherfucker." He dropped it on the floor and stomped on it. 

Trish looked down at his foot and realized he had on shoes. She travelled up his body to see that he was fully dressed, though it was obvious that he had dressed in haste. His shirt was buttoned wrong and half-tucked in his slacks, which were wrinkled and, though zipped, unbuttoned. Looking at Randy made her remember what else was said. "Ric..." 

Randy blinked. He shook his head. "Put on your clothes. We've gotta get to the club." 

"He said..." She cleared her throat. Her body trembled with the severity of what she had been told. Judging by Randy's appearance, she suspected it was true. Tears streaked down Trish's cheeks and her bottom lip trembled. "No," she said weakly. "Ric..." 

"We've gotta get to the club. Hunter and Dave's cars just exploded." 

She shook her head. "This isn't happening... Hunter and Dave... they aren't..." 

"They're alright. Chyna's kinda cut up, but... they're alive." 

"And Ric? Please... Randy, please..." She stepped up to him and gripped his arms hard. Lately, she had been so careful at how she touched him, but right then, she wasn't thinking that she might have been touching sore sports. "Randy, please!" 

He looked down into her eyes. A growl shook his throat and slowly crawled up to burst out of his lips. He closed his eyes and took in two deep breaths, then re-opened his eyes. Trish tried to find something in his eyes that said that Ric was just very hurt, he was still alive, he wasn't dead, but there was nothing there but rage that could have only been caused by one thing. 

"Trish... Ric's dead." 

...go back 


	14. Chapter 14

Hunter shoved past the cops in the front of Ric's house. He trudged through the living room, and nearly puked when he saw Ric's body still hanging from the staircase. He turned quickly to the side and took in deep breaths. He didn't throw up when Shannon Moore's charred arm fell to land at his feet, he certainly wasn't going to do it there. He composed himself and stood up straight, then turned back to the scene. 

There were police everywhere, as was expected. Most of them were useless as hell. They milled around, whispering to one another. Some even snickered as their eyes flickered over Flair's body, and Hunter wanted to hit them. He wouldn't even have known anything, let alone gotten inside, if there weren't plenty of officers who got their quarterly bonus from Evolution Enterprises. 

They had positioned themselves throughout, so as to make it easier for Hunter to get through with minimal conflict. The occassional cop said something to him, but a crisp hundred dollar bill always made eyes turn the other way. The one who had actually made the call would get an even bigger bonus... just as soon as Hunter did what he came to do. 

Flair's house was huge, and he had no idea where Stacy was. He called someone over and was directed to the study. The officer walked with him so he wouldn't be hassled, then left him at the door. 

Hunter stood to the side. He could barely see Stacy, but he got a clear view of Benoit's back. He had wondered why he hadn't shown up after the bombing at the club. He was too busy badgering Stacy. He listened to the questioning, trying to get a look around him. 

"You said somebody called you, Stacy." She didn't say anything. From his groan, Hunter guessed she didn't even look at him. "If you don't tell me anything, I can't help you. You want me to find your father's killer, don't you?" She still didn't say anything. Benoit knelt down in front of her and Hunter got a clearer view. 

Stacy sat in a large black leather chair. Her shirt was torn, and from across the room, Hunter could see that the sleeves were torn off. Bandages covered her arms, and there was a Band-Aid on her cheek. He couldn't see below her waist, Benoit blocked his view, but what he was able to see was enough to send him walking forward. 

"You know this wasn't the only thing that happened tonight, right?" Stacy hadn't been looking at him, but at his words, she turned towards him. "Somebody tried to take out Helmsley and Batista at the club. Somebody died out there, too, Stacy. A young kid that started Helmsley's car. Orton's already been attacked. If this person is talking to you, you could be next. Do you wanna end up like your old man?" 

"I don't know anything!" Stacy screamed and Hunter barged over. She looked up at the sounds of his heavy footfalls. 

"Leave the girl alone," Hunter said, a growl beneath his words. "Don't you have any fuckin' respect? She found her father's body for fuck's sake!" 

Benoit stood and whirled around. His eyes were dark with rage. "What the hell are you doing here, Helsmley? This is a crime scene and, unfortunately, you're not the crime." 

"It's none of your goddamned business why I'm here." Hunter stepped closer to him. "All you need to know is that your time with Stacy Keibler is over. Anything else you have to say to her, you can say to our legal team." He smirked. "If you like, I could make a call and Dave could be here in half an hour. You know, after losing the Roadster and nearly losing Chyna, he's not in the best of moods right now." 

Benoit glared at him, but he didn't argue. He may have been annoying as hell, but Hunter knew he wasn't stupid. He had a murder investigation on his hands that was going to be on the front page of every local newspaper, and quite a few national ones, by the time the sun rose over the horizon. The last thing he needed were headlines that said he was berating the victim's daughter. 

With another smirk, Hunter moved past him. He caught the rest of Stacy and instantly lost any humor he had in getting one over on Benoit. Her feet were wrapped in white bandages. Her skin was pale. Her eyes were red-rimmed. A tremor ran through her body that was so slight, he had to be right up on her to see it. 

He knelt in front of her and lightly touched her leg. "Stacy?" She turned her eyes up to him and blinked. Tears started to roll down her cheeks and her bottom lip trembled. "Stacy, I'm here to take you home." 

She blinked again, as though she were confused. The words just weren't making any sense to her. "What?" 

"Home, Stacy. I'm taking you home." 

Her chin quivered. "No. I... I can't go home." 

"You have to go somewhere. You can't stay here, Stacy." 

She didn't say anything and Hunter just sighed. He stood up and looked down at her, wondering how to handle this. He wasn't going to let her sit there, and she certainly couldn't walk on those bandages. He wanted to know what had happened, but he would ask that later. For the time being, though... 

He bent down and wrapped one arm around her waist. He put the other beneath her legs, then lifted her. Stacy leaned inot him, pressing her head against his chest. Tears leaked into his shirt. Hunter turned and stalked past Benoit, taking Stacy right out the front door and to his car. 

When he got her inside with the seatbelt on, Stacy turned to look at him. She let the tears airdry on her face as she said, "My car's here." Her voice was soft and cracked at the end of her sentence. 

"I'll send somebody to get it in the morning." 

Hunter walked around to the driver's side and got in. He started the car quickly and took off down the drive. He was worried about Stacy being there, but he didn't really want to be in the house either. With just the smallest glimpse of Ric's body, he knew that he would be seeing that sight for a long time. 

There were a lot of things he wanted to ask her. How did she end up at Ric's house? What did Benoit mean when he said the guy was talking to her? How had she managed to get so cut up? She would probably answer his questions easier than Benoit's, but he couldn't bring himself to ask them. Since joining forces with Ric Flair, Stacy had become almost a younger sister to them all, Hunter especially. He felt the innocence around her the same as Ric had, and just like his late friend, he held onto that. 

He wanted to help Stacy out of respect for Ric, but at the same time, he knew that he was no good. Hunter had no delusions about the type of man that he was. He did horrible things and lost no sleep over them at night. Maybe, helping Stacy this night would make him a little less of a creep to the one person involved in Evolution Enterprises who was wholly innocent. 

"Where are you taking me?" she asked softly. 

Hunter looked at her and sighed, then turned his attention back to traffic. She didn't want to go home, so that was out. Cops were crawling all over the club and the last thing Stacy needed to see was another crime scene. The only place left, really, was his beach house. He had planned to spend the night alone, ranting, but apparently, that wasn't meant to be. 

"I'm taking you to my place." 

"Okay." She settled into silence for another five minutes. Hunter said nothing as he drove. Stacy finally spoke again and said, "I knew something was wrong the whole way over there. This guy just called and said to say goodbye to daddy, and I ran out of there and jumped in the car and the entire way over there... I just knew it was wrong, ya know? More than wrong, really. I knew even if I called the cops they'd never get there in time ' cause he was already gone. And then I got there. I broke down the glass and I walked on glass and he was there and... I don't even remember the EMT's bandaging me up. I just remember screaming." She rolled her head on the seat and looked at Hunter. "I'm going to hear that screaming in my head for a really long time." 

Hunter turned to look at her, but she had already gone back to staring out the window. He didn't say anything, because there was nothing for him to say. She had answered all unasked questions. She obviously didn't feel like talking anymore, and that was fine with him. He wasn't even sure how to handle the situation. So, he just stared ahead and continued his drive to the beach, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his best friend and mentor was dead. 

...go back 


	15. Chapter 15

"Father, friend and partner... We commit Ric Flair to the ground. May God have mercy and welcome you into his embrace." 

Stacy stood at the edge of the grave and stared down. The silver coffin was covered in red and white roses. Standing there, having already seen Ric's overly made-up face inside the church, she still couldn't believe that he was gone. She had collided with his dead body, but when her phone rang, she always expected Ric to be on the other end, telling her to stop by the club or meet him somewhere for lunch. She had touched his cold cheek as he lay in his coffin, but she still waited for him to come around the bushes and laugh because he had gotten the biggest one over on everybody. 

There were at least a hundred people at the gravesite, standing on either side of the hole, but there was no family there. The only relative that had shown up at the funeral was her brother David, and that confrontation ended with Hunter prying her from him as she tried to gouge out his eyes. She could still hear his words in her head. "I just came to make sure the son of a bitch was really dead." The menace in those words would haunt her just as much as her screaming would. 

Stacy stepped forward and watched as the coffin was lowered slowly into the ground. She rose her head to look around the group of people and gave a sad smile. "Dad would be really glad you all are here," she said, addressing the crowd. "He, um... I mean, I know he wasn't the greatest citizen Miami's ever seen but to me... To me, he's... he was... the best thing that could have ever happened. 

"I still remember when my mom left me to live with him. I'd never even met my father. He said he'd seen me but... I thought it was going to be weird, ya know? And it was at first. I kept wanting my mom. I was thirteen and a girl that age needs her mom. But, she didn't want me. She left me with Dad and as much as I hated her for it in the beginning, I love her for it now. 

"I don't look at it as being abandoned by my mom. I look at it as getting the best gift a girl could ever get. She gave me my daddy, and now..." Stacy swallowed and closed her eyes. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she wiped them away. She opened her eyes again and said, "I don't know where my mother is, but I know where my father is. He's in the same place he's been since I was thirteen years old. Right here, in my heart." 

Stacy bent down at the knee and collected a handful of dirt. "Ashes to ashes," she whispered, "dust to dust." She stretched out her arm and opened her hand. The warm Miami wind fanned the dirt as it fell to hit the top of the coffin. 

Stacy stood quietly, staring down into the ground. She heard the crowd moving around her, but didn't dare walk away. She had to stand there as long as possible, just in case his spirit still hung around somewhere. She had to let him have a last taste of unconditional love before he took his final journey. 

She knew that somewhere to her left, Hunter stood. He had barely left her side since coming to get her from Ric's house. She had never thought of Hunter as particularly caring, but all of his actions seemed genuine. He didn't go maudlin and overboard. There was no breakfast in bed or brushes of her hair. He did, however, help her change her bandages. He listened to her cry at night. He told her to stop feeling sorry for herself because Ric wouldn't want that. 

Stacy knew that Hunter was right. Ric Flair had raised her to be a strong woman. She was the vice president of Evolution Enterprises. As soon as the will was propogated, she would be the owner of every piece of recreational land Ric owned and a portion of his shares in Evolution Enterprises, the rest being divided up between his partners. She was young and strong and she could handle this. Just as soon as she realized that he wasn't going to get up out of the coffin and yell "Gotcha!" 

A hand touched her arm and she turned. Trish looked up at her with sympathy, and Stacy returned the emotion. She knew that Trish had felt something, at least reverence, for Ric, but she also thought she was taking it a little harder than she should have. There were whispers around, and Stacy overheard soft conversations that were held between Hunter, Dave and Randy at the beach house, but no one was telling her anything concrete. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know. Sometimes, she wanted to believe that ignorance truly was bliss. 

"I'm sorry," Trish said softly, rubbing Stacy's arm lightly. "You have no idea how sorry I am." 

Stacy looked at her quizzically. "What do you have to be sorry for?" 

"I..." She started to speak, then stopped and shook her head. "I know how much Ric meant to you and I wish there were something I could do to help you." 

"Trish..." 

"I've been there and..." She closed her eyes and let out a shallow breath. "If you need anything at all, even if it's just to talk or go shopping or whatever, call me. I'd offer you my cage for a night, but..." 

"Club's closed for now." 

"Yeah," she said softly. "But, I do have a cage at home if you want to play in it." 

For the first time since she found Ric's body, Stacy smiled with genuine humor. "Do you really?" 

"Yup. Bought it when I started at the club. I just like having it around. If you ever just need to relieve some stress, ya know? Don't hesitate...to..." Trish's words trailed off and Stacy looked down at her. 

Trish was staring off into the crowd on the other side of the hole. Her forehead knit in confusion, then her eyes widened in surprise. She took a step forward and only Stacy's sudden grip kept her from falling into the grave. Trish snapped her head around to Stacy, then looked back across the way. Whatever she was looking at was gone. 

"Trish?" Stacy looked past her when she didn't answer and waved over Randy. She felt Hunter walk up behind her. Dave and Chyna came up behind Hunter. "Trish, are you alright?" 

"What happened?" Randy asked, pulling Trish towards him. 

"I don't know. We were talking and... she just... went like that." 

"Trish?" Randy gripped her arms and made her look at him. She blinked up at him, as though she was just seeing him. "Trish? What's wrong?" 

"I..." She shook her head and turned to look back across the grave. Softly, barely audible, she said, "I just saw... at least I thought I saw..." 

"Who did you see, Trish?" 

Her voice softened even more as she said, "Christian." 

...go back 


	16. Chapter 16

Trish walked back and forth, arms waving. She was back at her condo, still dressed in funeral black, still wearing heels that clicked against the tile of the kitchen floor. They were pretty sure that the house was empty of anymore spy equipment. Since finding the first camera, Randy had called someone in and the place had been swept. She was told that there was no one spying on her anymore. They had found six more cameras and four listening devices, including a camera in the bathroom perched above the shower head. 

Yeah, she thought, and they wonder why I'm so uncomfortable. 

She trapsed across the floor, shaking her head as her arms settled at her side. She turned to face Randy. "I'm telling you, I saw Christian." 

He groaned and leaned back in the chair. They were all overwhelmed with Ric's death, but she seemed to be the worst off. He couldn't really blame her, though, since she was wracked with guilt. He and the others had all pretty much figured that this had something to do with her and their own mutual associations with Christian. They all shared the blame, but none of the others were seeing things. 

"That's not possible," Randy said, bending forward. He rested his arms on the kitchen table. "Christian's dead, Trish." 

"I know that!" She stopped walking and slammed her fists down on the table. "I was there! I picked out his suit! I gave his eulogy and I cried over his grave until it was dark and they told me I had to leave! I know he's dead!" 

Though her outfit was completely put together and there wasn't a hair out of place, there was no mistaking the frantic look in her eyes. Inside, beneath the designer clothes and expensive jewelry, she was a wreck, and only her eyes reflected that. 

"What do you want me to say, Trish? You're right? You saw Christian? Sorry, babe, but I can't do that. Somebody's gotta be fucking with your head." 

"Fucking with my head..." She turned around, then started pacing again. "Maybe it's Christian. Maybe he's not really dead, and he expected me to figure it out, but when I didn't, he came back for revenge." She turned back to Randy. "Maybe he thinks we were in on something to get rid of him and now he wants us all dead." 

"You heard this guy's voice, Trish. You didn't recognize it." 

"Maybe he had one of those voice things, like they had in Scream?" She shook her head. "Christian had a key to this place. How'd he get in if he didn't have the key?" 

"The same way he got into Ric's place. He picked the lock." 

"But, I never got Christian's key back. It wasn't in his things when I got 'em from the cops. Maybe Christian has come back to haunt me. Maybe I'm losing my mind. Maybe I'm in a bad horror flick and any minute, Christian's gonna pop up behind you with a hook in his hand and..." 

"And maybe," Randy interrupted her, "you just saw somebody who looked like Christian. Maybe you're feeling guilty about Ric, and you just thought it was Christian." 

Trish started to protest, but Randy had a point. She had been standing next to Stacy, talking to her, when she saw the apparition. Everyone but Stacy knew that this had something to do with Trish, and maybe she felt guilty standing there and giving condolensces when she was partially to blame. 

Now that she thought about it, the man she saw had longer hair. But... she could have sworn it was Christian, anyway. He used to have long hair before he cut it off. He'd taken a trip up North and come back with the urge to change his appearance. She had missed his hair, but he still looked nice with it so short. And yet, on the other hand, enough time had passed. If Christian really were still alive and had come back for revenge, there would have been plenty of time for him to grow his hair back out. Maybe he wanted it long again, because she had grown to love it short. 

Trish shook her head and sighed. "I saw somebody," she said softly, pulling out a chair. She sat down and dropped her head onto the table. "I... I know I saw somebody. It wasn't just an illusion." 

Randy sighed and stood up. He walked around the table and stood behind Trish. His fingers gripped her shoulders and he tried to squeeze the tension out. "You saw somebody, but it wasn't Christian. You know, deep down, that Christian is gone." 

"Maybe I should tell Benoit..." 

"Tell him what? You saw Christian at Ric Flair's funeral?" Randy snorted. "I don't think that's gonna go over very well, babe. Besides, you told him all he needs to know. You told him about the calls and the camera, and the rest of it... We've got people out on the prowl. This guy'll turn up, then we'll take care of him. In the mean time..." He reached into his pocket and put something in front of Trish. "Take this." 

Trish lifted her head and looked at the small bottle. "Randy..." 

"It's not what you're thinking. It's Valium. I had Dave pick it up for me." She turned her head to him and he sighed. "You need some rest. And you're not the only one. Hunter's probably shoved a couple down Stacy's throat already. The both of you need some sleep." 

"And you? What are you gonna do?" 

"I need to get some things from home and make some calls, then I'll be back later on tonight." Randy took the bottle and poured out two pills. "Just take this, alright? Take it and get in the bed." 

Trish was wary, but she did need the rest. Her body ached with tire, physical and emotional, and she figured sleep would help. With a sigh, she took the pills from him, then waited as he got her a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Trish swallowed the pills, then let Randy walk her into the bedroom. 

The two said their goodbyes, and by the time Randy had her undressed and beneath the covers, she was almost asleep. She watched him go through blinking eyes, then pulled the blanket up around her neck. She was tired and she needed sleep... she just hoped that she wouldn't be seeing Christian again any time soon. 

...go back 


	17. Chapter 17

"Wakey, wakey." 

Trish thought she was dreaming. Of all the ways to wake her up, Randy would have never chosen to do that. He'd have shaken her or gone to a more creative and admittedly pleasurable way. But wakey wakey? No, Randy would never say that, so this had to still be a dream. 

Then, she heard the words again, and it wasn't Randy's voice. Her eyes slowly started to open, but her lids were heavy. The Ambien wanted to pull her back under into sleep, but the caller was persistent. He would keep talking until she opened her eyes. 

Trish stretched... and her arms hit steel. Her eyes popped open and she sat up quickly. She looked around her and saw bars. She crabwalked backwards and her back hit bars. She was in her cage, and she didn't know how she'd gotten there. When Randy left she was in her bed, on her way to sleep... 

And then she stopped to look down at herself. She yelped at the realization that whomever had put her in the cage had left her topless. She tried to cover herself, but her body was still partially asleep and the most she could do was drape the sheet she sat on over her chest. 

Then there was laughter in the darkness. She couldn't see him, but she could hear him, and she knew that this was the man who had beaten Randy, who had hidden cameras in her apartment and tried to kill Hunter and Dave. This was the man that had murdered Ric Flair in cold blood, then lured his young daughter to be traumatized. 

"Don't worry, Trish. I don't wanna see it, anyway. I just didn't want you waking up before I got you where you're supposed to be." 

"What?" She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them wide. She still couldn't see anything. All of the blinds were closed and what little moonlight peeked through wasn't enough to illuminate the intruder. "How did you get in here?" 

Keys jingled. "It's really easy to get in when you're invited." 

She shook her head. No... if he were trying to play that he was Christian, then this wouldn't work. So what if he'd somehow gotten a hold of Christian's keys, but these were new locks. He couldn't possibly have a set with the new locks. In that discovery, Trish laughed loudly, her head rocking back to hit the bars. "Oh my God! You're not Christian!" 

Trish's laughter died down and there was nothing left but silence. It was as though she was alone in the darkness and it gave her chills. She was proud of herself for figuring out that her tormentor wasn't Christian, but the silence was eerie, creepy even. She went to her hands and knees and crawled forward. The sheet fell from her and she didn't care. She kept inching forward until she reached the opposite side of the large cage. She gripped the bars loosely and peered forward. 

A face rushed up to her, and she screamed. Trish scrambled backwards as she looked into sunglasses and a wide smile. "Who said I was Christian?" he whispered, then moved back. Trish could almost here a whoosh when he backed away, as though he were a cartoon villain or something. 

"Who are you?" She held on to the bars and started to move forward again. "Who are you, and why are you doing this?" It wasn't Christian, she knew that for sure now, but he still looked like him, at least a little bit. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He chuckled. "Flair wanted to know, but I didn't feel like telling him. You, though... I guess it would be only right for you to know who I am. But, not right now. I'll save that for right before you die." 

Trish gulped hard. Fear was a cold lump in her stomach. Sweat lined her spine. Her body held a slight tremor that grew more and more every second. She gripped the bars harder and looked around. She wasn't in her bedroom, she knew that, but just where she was... This guy had gone to the trouble to bring her cage up to the house, and she tried to think of the only place where there would be room in her condo for it to sit in the middle of a room and not touch anything. 

The Studio! Of course! She was in her dance studio, which was all the way on the other end, upstairs. She was pretty much isolated, just like Ric had been. No one would hear her scream. But, then she thought about Randy. He was supposed to come back that night. Maybe he would get there and then... 

Then what? This guy was psycho. He had already killed two people and tried to kill more. What would Randy be able to do? He had a gun, but he didn't always carry it with him. What if he didn't have it on him? He wouldn't be able to save her. He'd only get himself killed. She didn't to die, but she didn't want Randy to die, either. 

Trish jerked on the cage and screamed, "Let me out of here!" 

"Do you know what they did to Christian, Trish?" His voice held no more humor. He was coming closer to her. His voice was getting louder, and angrier. "I had a private detective find out. They paid off the higher-ups and put a leash on Benoit. He figured it out, you know. That Christian didn't commit suicide." 

She jerked on the cage again, then went rigid. "Christian..." 

"They put him in a steel cage and they grabbed his arms." 

"Christian OD'd." For as long as she had wanted to believe that someone had killed Christian, she now wanted to believe that his death was an accident. She didn't want to hear this maniac tell her how he had died. "He got a bad batch of heroin." 

"Christian didn't do heroin!" He came closer to the cage and Trish heard somthing click against the bars. "They put him in a cage. A fucking cage! They grabbed his arms and shot him up so high he never fucking came down. Do you hear me, Trish? They shot him up and then they tossed his body in a fucking alley!" 

Trish shook hard enough that with her grip on the bars, so did the cage. She was coming more awake, and with wakefulness came understanding. She was going to die the way Christian had. That click against the bars... that had been a needle. He was going to shoot her up and leave her somewhere. 

"Let me out!" She jerked on the cage so hard that she could swear she would dislocate something. She screamed and pulled. "Let me out of here! Help! Somebody! Let me... out of here!" 

"You'll die in filth, just like Christian." 

"No! Let me out of here!" The cage rocked. She stood up and grabbed the perch above her head. She pulled, trying to pull herself up, but the perch broke and she fell to the floor. She scrambled to get up, but he was there already. He grabbed her arm and pulled her flush against the side of the rounded cage. Her face hit the cage with enough force to make her dizzy. 

"Sit still and shut the fuck up." 

There was a sharp pain in her arm and her body tightened. "No!" She had never done heroin. Christian hadn't done heroin either. She knew this and her body knew it. Her body didn't want it in her and tried to fight it off, painfully. She tried to scream for him to stop, but nothing would come from her mouth. 

Just as her body started to relax, there was another sharp poke in her other arm and her body went rigid again. She felt as though someone were wrapping her insides around hot pokers then twisting them. Everything hurt. Her arms were released and she fell back against the floor of the cage. Her back arched, her body convulsed. She didn't understand why people did this. At least with cocaine, there had always been a pretty much instant high. This hurt, this was horrible, this... 

Started to reside. Her body went limp against the floor, and then she rolled. Her mind was clouded, but something in her knew she had to try and reach... what? She wasn't sure, but she had to get to a different place. She slid across the floor and lightly gripped the bars. Trish pulled herself forward until her head hit the bars with a thud. Skin touched hers, and then there was breath against her face. The breathing was hot and unfamiliar. She wanted it to go away. 

There was a click and she tried to look up. Her vision was a blur and through the haze, she could see the cage door starting to open. If she were more aware, she would have made a break for it, but all she could do was slowly slither towards the opening, hoping that maybe she would fall out. He took a step inside, and then stopped. 

Had he heard something? Trish didn't know. She couldn't hear anything but her own blood rushing through her body. She was picked up, then dropped again. "Shit." He shook his head and climbed out. He leaned near her and whispered, "When you get to hell, bitch, tell 'em Edge sent you." 

He turned and ran. She didn't know where he went. She didn't care too much. He had left the door open and if he weren't near, she could possibly slide out. And then what? There had to be a phone somewhere. It was her house and she could find anything with a blindfold on. She was sure she could find a phone close enough to call 911. 

Trish fell out of the cage with a thud and curled up in a ball on the floor. She started to sink and tried to claw her way up. She thought she was sinking, at least. It certainly felt that way. But in the darkness, there was nothing to hold onto, nothing to use as leverage. Even if there was something around, her arms were too weak to hold onto it. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. 

Then, the darkness was chased away by a blinding light. Hands were on her and she tried to shove them away. She mewed softly and started to cry because she couldn't stop him. He would throw her in an alley and leave her to spend her last few hours rooting in filth. A sob fell from her mouth. 

"Trish!" 

The voice was muffled, but it sounded familiar. It sounded strangely like something that should calm her. She didn't understand, because Edge's voice would definitely not calm her. At the very least it would make her scream and at the most it would kill her quicker. She would literally be scared to death. 

"Trish, it's Randy! Trish!" 

Randy? She tried to open her eyes to look at him, but she couldn't see anything but the bright light that burned her pupils. She heard his muffled voice talking on a phone, then there was a scream of frustration. She thought she heard the phone drop, and then she was lifted. He was carrying her somewhere. Was Randy going to be the one to leave her in the trash? 

She wanted to talk to him, but she couldn't. He was still screaming at her, though. He was trying to get her to stay awake, but it was hard. She didn't even realize she was awake until he told her not to go to sleep. She thought she must have made some sound, but didn't remember. She heard him say hospital and was relieved. He won't throw me away, she thought. 

Her lips moved, and while she wasn't sure if any sound actually came out, she at least tried to tell him. She was drifting farther into the dark, but she wanted to at least give him something that would save him from the psychotic murderer that had gotten rid of her because of Christian. She wanted him to have some kind of defense. She wanted to say, "Edge." She fell into the dark abyss, unsure if the word had come out of her mouth or just volleyed back and forth in her head. 

...go back 


	18. Chapter 18

Stacy stared at the phone and wondered if it were safe to answer. The ringing was constant, as it had been since the day after Ric's death. Hunter had told her to stop answering it after the first call. Sometimes she listened. Others she didn't. She wondered if this should have been a time to listen. 

She was alone, or as alone as she could be with guards outside the doors. Still, inside the house, there was no one with her. Hunter should have been back soon. Maybe she would just let him answer it. Whomever it was never left a message on the voice mail. Not a sound was made when Hunter answered the phone. The noise only came when she picked up. 

The night of her father's funeral and she was still staying with Hunter. Even though she knew that her father had been to his house many times, it still seemed easier than going back to her own home. At least at Hunter's, she didn't have memories of Ric pretending she was a little girl again and tucking her into bed after a hard day at the office. There were no personal memories there at all. 

Though, she still wasn't sure she liked being an imposition. She had offered to go to a hotel more than once, and Hunter threatened to tie her down if she tried it. He said that it was because she was safer at his place, but Stacy wasn't all too sure she bought that. She could have guards at a hotel, too. But, then again, she wasn't sure there was a hotel in town that would willingly take her knowing she'd have people standing outside of her door whenever she was in. She guessed it was okay, since Hunter said she wasn't a bother, but it still felt odd. 

The phone stopped ringing and Stacy sighed. Her body went to jelly and she practically collapsed into the large leather chair behind her. She didn't want to hear it anymore. The sounds, the voices... it was something that she didn't need to hear and it only served to crack the strong wall that circled her. She had built up her reserves tight following Ric's death, and she knew that if she got one little crack, the entire thing would crumble around her. 

Something was going on, though. She knew it. Everyone was whispering around her, as if there were things going on that they didn't want her to know about. She didn't think anything could be as bad as finding her father's body, but maybe they did. She wanted to be upset that they were all treating her like a child, but when it all came down to it, she didn't think she really wanted to know, anyway. She didn't know if she could handle it, and the last thing she wanted to do was end up halfway to basket case. 

Like Trish... 

Stacy felt bad for her. She'd never seen the blonde dancer in such a state. Trish had always been strong and confidant. Now, she was swearing that she saw dead people and acting more paranoid than Hunter. She had tried to tell Randy to leave Trish at home for the funeral, the woman didn't need to go to another one, but Trish had insisted. Stacy thought that after her hallucination, she'd think twice about attending funerals again. And hopefully, she wouldn't have to even think about it. 

The phone rang again and Stacy jumped. She sat up, her back straight, and stared at the phone. It could have been Hunter, though he wouldn't have called would he? He knew she was fearful every time it rang and he had told her not to answer it anyway. If Hunter called, he'd have called her cell, where he already had a ringer set. She had given him the theme from The Godfather, the one that had previously been reserved for Ric. 

But, then again... it could have been someone important. 

Taking a deep breath, Stacy stood up and slowly walked to the phone. Her hand trembled as she laid it against the handset and slowly raised it to her ear. "H-Hello?" Her voice shook as she waited, praying to hear Hunter's voice or even Dave or Randy's. Anything but what she usually heard when she answered the phone. 

_"There will be no Evolution, Ric. They're all going to fall. I'm going to finish off Orton and... by now..." _

"...Helmsley and Batista should be incinerated. No one left to care but poor little Stacy. Gorgeous little Stacy of the long legs. Maybe I'll let her dance for me in a cage." 

"You touch her and I swear to God, I will kill you." 

"It'll have to be as a ghost Ric because..." 

"...you won't be alive to do anything else." 

Stacy screamed and dropped the phone to the floor. It was always different. The words, but not the place. Each time she answered, she heard different parts of what she knew to be the same conversation. The first time, had just been Ric's scream. Beneath the agonizing yell, she could swear she heard the knife cutting into his flesh. 

She whirled around and before her hands could cover her face, she saw the guards charging through the front door. Hunter was on their heels, racing in. She looked up at him and had the oddest thought. He looks terrible in light gray. It was the most ridiculous thing to cross her mind at that moment in time, but it was something a lot less traumatizing than what she had just heard. 

"What's going on?" Hunter rushed forward, then stopped as he saw the phone on the floor beside her. "Stacy..." 

"I know," she said, trying to fight the tears that came rushing out of her eyes. Her entire body shook and from her viewpoint, it seemed as though the entire room was moving. "I thought it might have been somebody else and... it's the first time I answered it all day. I..." 

Hunter went around her and picked up the phone. "Listen to me, you son of a bitch! When I get a hold of you, you'll wish all I did was stick a knife if your gut! They'll be talkin' about your fuckin' death for years! They'll use it to scare little chldren, you sick fuck!" Laughter sounded in his ear, then there was nothing but a dial tone. "Fucker!" He threw the phone across the room and watched it slam against the wall, breaking into pieces. 

Hunter turned around and Stacy stared at him. She realized that in the time he spoke on the phone, she had taken a few steps backward. She was actually afraid of him. In all the years she had known Hunter, she had never been afraid. Sure, he did some things that were less than legal, and everybody had been "mad enough to kill" at least once in their lives, but Hunter's words over the phone... Stacy knew that he meant every single word. 

"Stace..." Hunter noted her fear and forced the angry tension to leave his body. He sighed and reached out to her. "Stacy, you shouldn't have heard that. I..." 

She shook her head and reached out to take his hand. "It's alright. You... you're mad. I just... I always had these thoughts... about you all and now..." She let Hunter pull him towards her and wrap his arms around her waist. She pressed her head against his chest and whispered, "You guys aren't the big teddy bears with fake mean faces I always thought you were." 

"Yeah, we are," he said, stroking her hair. "Just not to everybody. Some people don't deserve it and that son of a bitch..." 

"He doesn't deserve it." She let Hunter hold her and tried to refill the cracks in her metaphysical fortress. Her strength and resolve was slipping out and there was no way she could survive without it. But Hunter was there, and she thought that maybe he could help fill it. The holes were made by the loss of her only real family, after all, and he had stepped in to take Ric's place. She just needed something familial to be strong. She just never thought until then that Hunter Hearst Helmsley would have ever been familial. She thought, I always wondered what a real older brother would have been like, anyway. 

...go back 


	19. Chapter 19

"He was blond." 

"Yes." 

"And tall." 

"I think so. It was dark." 

"And he smiled?" 

"Yes!" Her head popped up. "A bright smile. It was the brightest thing in the world." She put her head down and looked at the cold gray table in front of her. "He kept smiling, except when he talked about Christian." 

Benoit shifted slightly in his chair. "And he told you that Christian was murdered." 

"I was supposed to die like Christian, he said. He was going to toss me into an alley. Like they did Christian. But, he didn't have time. Randy..." Her head turned towards the small window in the door. She could see Randy standing just outside, staring in the room. They told him he couldn't come in. "Randy came in and he ran." 

"How did he get out?" 

"I don't know. Maybe he was still there, hiding in the dark. Maybe he left when we left. Maybe he's still there, now." She turned her head to the side and looked at her lawyer. "I'm tired. I want to go home." 

Dave Batista sat up straight and stared at Benoit with cold, unforgiving eyes. It was late (or early, depending on the point of view) and he'd been sleeping when he got Randy's call, but he looked as fresh as if he'd never gone to sleep. His suit was neatly steamed, collars crisp and seams straight. 

He still didn't have the whole story, but he would get that later. For the moment, he had the important parts. Randy had come to Trish's condo to check on her and she was barely alive. She lost consciousness in the car on the way to the airport. The police had been called because the diagnosis was an overdose, and five hours after Trish Stratus had been shot full of heroin, two hours after she had been revived by doctors in the emergency room, she was sitting across from Homocide Detective Chris Benoit in a cold Miami-Dade interrogation room. 

"Are we getting to a point, Detective?" Dave leaned forward and sat his arms on the table. "Ms. Stratus has obviously been through a lot tonight and she would like to get out of here and get some rest." 

Benoit ignored him and fixed his eyes on Trish. "There's no one in your house right now, Trish. The police have been through there, and we've found some pretty interesting things." He reached into a box beside him and tossed out a plastic evidence bag containing a hypodermic needle. Another one held a spoon that had obviously been cooked. A third held what looked to be like a small baggie of white powder. 

Trish looked at the things and shivered. She closed her eyes and took in deep breaths. She heard Benoit ask her, "Do you know where these came from?" She let out a shaky breath, then her eyes popped open. "I don't do heroin!" she screamed. If she had the strength, she would have jumped up and slapped them. 

"That's enough!" Dave took Trish's arm and stood up, pulling her with him. "My client was almost killed tonight, Detective. Someone broke into her home and tried to murder her, and all you can do is accuse her of being a junkie? I'll be sure to file yet another complaint with your captain as soon as the courthouse is open in the morning." 

He started to walk Trish towards the door when Benoit called out, "He was Christian's brother!" 

Trish stopped and pulled her arm out of Dave's grasp. She was tired and afraid, so she thought maybe she heard him wrong. She slowly turned towards Benoit. "What?" 

He pulled out a packet of pictures and spread them across the table. "Edge. He was Christian's brother." 

She looked at him with confusion. "Christian didn't have a brother." 

"Yes, he did." He moved the pictures around, pushing one towards her. As she moved closer, Trish saw that it was a picture of Christian and Edge together, smiling, when they were younger. Back when Christian still had long hair. 

"He..." She gulped and reached out to the photograph. Her fingers ran down Christian's face lightly, then her nails angrily raked over Edge's. "He was at Ric's funeral." She turned to Dave. "I thought I saw Christian, but it was him. He was at Ric's funeral." 

"Edge. Real name, Adam Copeland. He was Christian's half brother." Benoit stood up from his chair and walked around the table. "The brothers hadn't spoken in years, not since Edge found out what Christian was doing down here. They had a fight and now... it looks like Christian's brother is back for revenge." 

Trish never took her eyes off the picture, though she noticed that they focused more on Christian's smiling face than Edge. She had seen enough of his grin to last an eternity. She slowly, absently sat down in the chair Dave had previously occupied. "He said it was my fault. He said I killed Christian. And..." She closed her eyes. A tear dropped from her eyelashes to fall on the picture and she reopened her eyes. "He killed Ric." 

"And beat up Randy. And tried to blow up Helmsley and Batista's cars. Shannon Moore is dead right now because this guy thinks your boyfriend and his friends had something to do with his brother's death. Because he thinks that it's all your fault." Benoit leaned down and pressed his hands flat on the table. "There's a lot of blood on your hands, Trish." 

She looked up at him, blinking. She knew that Benoit hated all of them because of the things that went on inside Club Evolution and in the private rooms of Evolution Enterprises, but... she didn't think he could be so cruel. "Blood on my hands," she said softly. Trish shook her head. "I didn't kill anybody." 

"But this guy thinks you did. He's like a fucking ghost, Trish. Ex-Special Forces. He knows what he's doing and he knows how to hide. I can't promise that I can keep you safe. And these guys? They couldn't even keep their own safe. Do you think they can protect you? Give me something useful Trish, anything that has anything to do with anybody and..." 

"And that's enough." Dave took her arm again and pulled her up from her chair. "This interview is over. You've got your guy, now do your job and find him." He pulled Trish out of the room before Benoit could say anything else. Once they were in the hallway, he pushed Randy back and looked down at Trish. "Don't listen to him. I know you're smarter than him. There's not a damn thing he can do to protect you, especially if you go thinking that you can..." 

"Stop!" She shook her head. "I don't know anything, Dave, and even if I did, I'm not rolling over for some cop who doesn't care, alright? I just... I'm tired and I wanna go to bed and..." She choked back a sob. "I want to be held and told that it'll be alright." 

Dave looked down at her and sighed. He nodded, partially unsure of how to take things. He didn't think Trish was the kind to roll, but there was no counting for what people would do under stress. He didn't have time to think much on it, though, as Randy pushed him aside. 

Randy rushed over and for a second, he didn't know what to do. He and Trish had based a relationship on sex, drugs and mutual ego. Yet, when she said she wanted to be held, he wanted to go and do that for her. He knew there had to be some underlying emotions there that neither of them would admit to, and he certainly wasn't about to do it right that moment, but he could at least let her feel protected. 

He turned his head to Dave and gave him a nod that was more than a thank you. It told his friend that Trish would be fine and whatever Benoit had said behind that closed door wasn't anything to worry about. He knew Trish, and she wasn't going to roll, no matter what happened or how scared she was. 

Randy wrapped his arms around Trish and felt a tension leave his body when she put her arms around his waist and pressed herself into him. Her hair was limp and wavy, and she was dressed in the only thing that had been available, a hospital gown and Randy's suit jacket. 

"Christian had a brother," Trish said, her cheek pressed against Randy's chest. "He had a brother and now he's come back to get us." She looked up at him. "I'm tired, Randy, but I... I can't go home. I don't think I can ever go back there." 

"I'll take you home with me." He turned them both and asked Dave, "We can get outta this place, right?" 

He nodded. "Follow me," he told them, then led them out. 

There were eyes on them and Trish tried to pull the jacket tighter around her body. Her feet were bare and the floor was cold. There were reporters outside and Dave took off his jacket, putting it over Trish's head as he lead her out to Randy's car. The entire walk, he repeated the mantra, "No Comment," and the reporters still pressed on. Randy shoved one guy hard enough to make him stumble back before they finally reached the car. He ushered Trish into the passenger side, then ran back around to get in. 

He turned to look at her and wished he could tell her that everything would be alright. He didnt' know if it would. He usually liked with such ease, but right then, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not looking into her frightened eyes, knowing that she had very nearly died. 

"He's gonna kill me, Randy," she said softly. "He's gonna kill us all. Unless..." She turned her head to the side and stared out the window. She knew what she was about to say, what she was about to condone, and it was something she never thought would come out of her mouth. And yet, this had been a life changing experience. She'd almost died. However, she knew that there wasn't much about the way she lived that would be different. When it was all over, she would find another condo. She would go back to her cage in the club. She would still powder her nose. And she would still be with Randy... if he wanted her. But something in her had broken, and as bad as it was, there was no repair. Her moral fiber had ripped. 

"Trish?" 

She turned her head back to him slowly and said, "Unless you find him and kill him first." 

...go back 


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, Trish and Stacy stood upstairs, looking down on the remaining men of Evolution Enterprises from inside the glass office of Club Evolution. Hunter, Randy and Dave sat around a table. The five of them were the only people inside the club. Chyna was at the door, standing a vigilant guard. Club Evolution was closed for the immediate future, until Edge was gone for good. 

"And she told you that." Hunter stood up and the chair went screeching across the floor. "Just like that? She says to kill him?" 

"We were going to anyway." Randy sighed and leaned back. "Dave and I already have half the fucking mob out looking for this guy. We called in connections with every underworld piece of shit we've got connections to call in." 

"Turns out," Dave put in, "this guy's taken out quite a few of theirs. Not a word's been leaked, and they didn't even admit it to us until we said Christian's name. But, they made it clear. When this is over, it's strictly business. Whoever takes out Edge, takes him out. There are no more favors, on either side. Money exchanges hands for the usual, but that's it." 

"No fucking shit. This is their goddamned fault, anyway." Hunter growled and stormed across the floor. He went behind the bar and poured himself a large tumbler of bourbon. He took a long drink, then slammed the glass down on the mahogany, sloshing brown liquor onto his hand. "We didn't have a fucking thing to do with Christian! He overheard some shit and they did it. We told 'em not to fuck with the guy." 

"Hunter..." 

"You know this fucker calls my fucking house ten times or more a day?" He shook the bourbon from his hand then took another drink. "Calls up and plays a fucking tape recording of Ric screaming and shit. Just does it for Stacy. Changed the number three times and he still gets it. That fucker is dead and when he's gone, the mob can kiss my fuckin' ass." He downed the rest of his drink and made another one. "The only reason we're in business with them is because we have to be. And Stacy stays clean, got me? This shit doesn't touch Double E." 

Randy just nodded and Dave stood up. He went over to the bar and fixed himself a Scotch on the rocks. After taking a few sips, he looked at Hunter. "We all know Christian didn't deserve to die." He turned to look at Randy. "You keep calling him a junkie because it makes you feel better when you know the truth, but even you have to admit, he didn't deserve that." 

"So what if he didn't?" Randy looked down at the gin and tonic in front of him and pushed the glass away. He stood up and walked across the floor to Trish's cage. He ran his hands around the bottom circle, walking it all the way around, then went back to sit at the table. He finished off his gin and slammed the glass on the table. "It's done, and there wasn't a damn thing we could do about it, then and there's nothing we can do about it now. You think I'm gonna go up there and admit to Trish that I knew who killed Christian all along? Not a fuckin' chance. When we find Christian, I'll slit his fuckin' throat myself and then he and this whole shit disappears." 

"Stacy, I'm sorry." She turned away from the glass and dropped her head. Trish took a few steps forward, then stopped. She had been told that Hunter had finally let Stacy in on what was happening, and she could barely believe that the girl didn't want to offer her up to Edge as a sacrifice. "I never meant for any of this to happen." 

Stacy looked at her, unknowing of what to say. Part of her wanted to grab Trish and shake her. Because of Trish, her father was dead. Because of Trish, she still had the sounds of her father's torment ringing in her head. Yet, at the same time, she pitied her. Trish was as much a victim as anyone else. Someone had tried to kill her. The most Stacy got was emotional torment. Trish could have ended up six feet under. 

Stacy walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. The shorter blonde looked up at her slowly and Stacy could easily see the tears in her eyes. "You didn't kill my dad, Trish." 

"But, this..." She turned her head to the side. "... it's my fault. Because of Christian..." 

"Don't." Stacy sighed. "I know Dad wasn't the most law-abiding guy in the world. He and the others... they did some really horrible things. I'll admit that now. Not that they deserved any of this, because they didn't. You don't either. But..." She sighed again. "Dad had his own part in whatever happened to him. He knew something or did something that made this Edge guy come after him. They all did. You can't take all of the blame yourself." 

Trish let out a choking sob that turned into a bitter laugh. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she brushed them away. "How can you be so... calm about this? So logical? I know if I were in your shoes, I'd be screaming at the top of my lungs." 

"This is the only way I can keep from breaking down." Stacy turned around and walked back to the desk. She sat on the curving laquer end and put her foot up in a chair. "I've broken down, you know. Hunter just hasn't seen it. I pull it together before he gets back. It's not anything like when I first saw..." She stopped and gulped hard. "When I first saw him, I had a complete meltdown, but Dad would've wanted me to be strong." 

"But the phone calls..." 

"The shock of hearing his voice..." She sighed. "That was rough, but he was so strong, Trish. To the end, he was cursing and screaming and threatening... Dad would be really pissed if he knew I turned into a ball of mush twice a day. And he'd be pissed if he saw you like this, too." 

"Huh?" Trish rubbed her eyes and looked at Stacy again. "What?" 

"Dad always told me... he said, Trish Stratus..." She cleared her throat and went into a rather bad impression. "That Trish Stratus is a tough girl. I'm Ric Flair, and I know tough girls. She's been through a lot, Stacy, and she's still standing. That's a strong girl, and nothing's gonna break her. Just like nothing's gonna break you." She coughed and came back with her regular voice. "Um... so, yeah, that's what he said." 

"He... I never knew Ric thought about me like that." 

"Dad always had things to say about everybody that worked for him. He may not have told you this, but he respected you. And now... if he saw either of us in the shape we've been in lately, he'd piss his shorts." 

Trish opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She had never known that Ric thought so highly of her, and for a second, it made her stomach twist in knots. The guilt within her wanted to kill her because he had such respect for her and she had somehow caused his death, but the respect she had for Ric shoved it back down. Stacy said he would have wanted her to be strong, and nobody knew him better than his daughter. If that's what he wanted, then the least she could do was to honor that. 

She started to say as much to Stacy, then stopped... because all of the lights had just gone out. 

"What the fuck?" Hunter whirled around in the darkness. "We pay our goddamned light bill!" 

"The light company doesn't just turn your shit off in the middle of the day," Randy growled, standing from his chair. He tripped over a chair and screamed, "Fuck!" 

Dave looked around suspiciously, then with caution made his way towards the front door. He listened at the door, but couldn't hear anything because Hunter and Randy were screaming curses at the shitjob electricians did in this town. "Would you shut up! I'm trying to hear." He held his ear close to the door and waited. He didnt' hear anything. "Something's not right." 

"No shit!" Hunter bottomed his glass, then cursed because he couldn't see enough to pour another drink without spilling it everywhere. 

"Shut the fuck up, alright!" Dave growled and turned back to the door. He opened it slowly and was blinded by the light. There were no windows in the club and it was broad daylight outside. He stepped forward and something hit his foot. He looked down slowly, then screamed, "Shit!" 

Chyna lay at his feet face up, a knife protruding from the left side of her chest. He dropped quickly to his knees and pulled her inside. He used his foot to keep the door open, but when he picked her up, his foot slipped and the door slammed shut, leaving them in darkness again. 

"What the hell happened?" Randy had managed a glimpse when the door opened. 

"Do I look like I fuckin' know?" Dave used one hand to throw chairs off the longest, closest table, then laid Chyna down on it. "Come on, baby," he said as he felt around her neck, checking for a pulse. "Come on..." He held his fingers steady, waiting while anger built up inside of him. He felt something thump against his fingers and his body nearly sagged to the floor. "I got a pulse! I think it's just shock." 

"Dude..." Randy walked over, then stopped when he bumped into something. "She's got a knife in her fucking chest." 

"What?" Stacy and Trish were working their way slowly down the spiraling staircase. "Who's got a knife where?" Stacy asked. 

Trish looked around nervously, gripping the rail tightly. "He's here," she said, her voice shaking. "I know it. He's in here." 

"Dave! You're closest to the door!" Stacy started over and tripped. She heard footsteps, then cursing that was obviously Hunter. He was trying to get to her and had tripped over something. "Go out the door, Dave! You've gotta go get help!" 

Dave looked down and slowly his eyes started to adjust to the darkness. He could see Chyna's outline, then there was movement. Her chest rose and fell slowly. She made small mewling noises. He gripped the hilt of the knife, then stopped, unsure if that would just do more damage. "I think she'll be fine," he said, barely hearing what the others were telling him. "I think it just burst her implant. But she'll need a doctor. That shit'll get in her system and..." 

"Dave!" Trish was slowly making her way towards Randy, feeling out blindly in front of her. "Go outside! Take her outside and go get help. Hold the door open long enough for us to see to get out." 

Dave looked up confused. "The... door..." He shook his head and brought enough senses back to himself to understand. He turned and tripped towards the door. He grabbed the knob and pulled. "It won't open!" 

"It pushes out, jackass!" 

"Hunter? Go fuck yourself." Dave growled and pushed the door. "It still won't fucking open! He's got something blocking it!" 

"Then he can't be in here!" Randy turned in the last direction Trish's voice had come from. "He's not in here!" 

"Yes, he is!" she screamed at him. She bumped into a chair and let out a frustrated scream. "He's here! He stabbed Chyna and he's coming for the rest of us! Now, somebody pull out a fucking cellphone and call 911!" 

"Who has a gun?" Everyone turned towards Stacy's voice. "A gun? Come on, I know you all carry. Somebody has a gun." 

"We all carry," Hunter said, "and shut up because I'm trying to call the cops." 

"Don't bother." The voice came out of the darkness and Hunter's phone slipped from his hands. A single light came on, above Trish's cage. Edge sat at the top, his feet sliding down the front. "You'll all be dead by the time they get here. Except for pretty little Stacy. She's gonna dance in my cage." 

A knife went sailing through the air and caught Hunter in the shoulder. He fell to the floor and the women screamed. Another knife appeared, this one going up into the ceiling. It broke the light and left them in the darkness... with a predator... out for blood. 

...go back 


	21. Chapter 21

"Hunter's down!" Randy scrambled across the floor, falling over tables and chairs, trying to get to the bar. "Where the fuck is he!" 

"I don't know!" Trish looked around frantically. "Stacy!" 

"I'm here! I'm trying to get to Hunter!" 

"Dave!" Trish whipped her head around. "Dave, where are you!" 

There was no sound. Dave stood hovering over Chyna, his head whipping around. His night vision wasn't good from the spotlight and he couldnt' see anything. He kept his fingers pressed against Chyna's neck, trying to feel for her pulse. 

"Dave!" Stacy called out this time. She was closer to Hunter. The edge of the bar bumped hard into her ribs and she let out a groan. "I can't find Hunter!" 

"I'm over here!" Dave called out. "Chyna's still alive!" 

"Not for much longer." Edge's eerie voice came out of the darkness and Dave looked around, trying to find him. He heard Chyna scream and then saw a flash of silver as the knife was jerked out of her chest. She rolled and Dave barrelled across the table. He felt a slice across his back, and then shouted as he hit the floor hard. 

"Dave!" Trish stopped in her tracks. "Randy!" 

"Trish, I'm over here! Follow my voice!" 

Randy continued to call out to her and she followed the sound until she could grip his arm. She let her hands slide down his arms to his hands and felt cold metal. "Your gun," she said, her voice no more than a whisper. 

"Yeah. Trish, if I go down..." 

"Randy, you're not going down." 

"Dave's already down. So are Hunter and Chyna. If I go down, take the gun and don't think. Make sure that he doesn't get you or Stacy." 

"Randy, I..." 

"Do it!" Stacy screamed and his head spun to the side. He tried to see, but there was nothing. "Trish, if I go down, take the gun. Do you understand me?" She nodded slowly and Randy called out, "Stacy!" 

"I'm fine! He took Hunter! There's blood everywhere! I... He was alive when he took him!" 

"Follow my voice!" 

Stacy got up and started feeling her way around. "What about Dave?" 

Dave called out, "I'm fine! Just a scratch!" Stacy sighed and continued over. She reached out and stopped when she bumped into Trish. The women huddled together and listened as maniacal laughter floated through the club. 

"You're all going to fucking die!" 

Randy fired into the direction of the voice, higher up. He didn't hit anything, but the spark from the gun firing gave him just enough light to figure out where he was. "The breaker's," he said softly, "are just across the floor. Behind Cena's DJ table." 

"Randy?" Stacy blinked. "Hunter's phone was still on. I talked to the operator. Help is on the way. Just wait here. They heard the screams, they'll be here." 

"Not in time. The two of you stay right here, alright? Stacy... did you get Hunter's gun?" 

She nodded, then realizing that he couldn't see her, said, "Yeah." 

"Okay. I'm going to the breaker box. There are three and this is the only one on this floor. He can't make it to another to take out the lights before I get back to you. But, I want you to give the gun to Trish. She knows how to use one." Stacy didn't argue that she could fire a gun because, honestly, she had no clue. She knew the concepts, but not really how to do it. "Make your way over to Dave and Chyna. When the cops bust in the door, run outside." 

"What about you?" Trish asked. She took the gun from Stacy and gripped it tightly. It was a nine milimeter Beretta, the same kind Christian had originally trained her on, which meant she knew exactly where the safety was in case she needed to use it. She thought it was kind of ironic that Christian had taught her how the use the weapon that could very well kill his brother. "What if he grabs you before you get to the lights?" 

"Then you blow a whole in the fucking door until you can get out. But whatever happens, you get the fuck out of here." He grabbed her tightly around the waist and pulled her towards him. He knew where every part of her was and his lips didn't miss as he kissed her hard. Randy threw her back and turned. "Stay here." 

He started off and the women were left alone. Neither could ignore Hunter's screams of rage. Something was hurting him, there was pain in his yells, but there was more cursing, more vowing to kill. It reminded Stacy of the tapes of her father that were played for her. She shook her head and grabbed Trish's arm. 

They made their way slowly over towards Dave's position. Hunter's screaming abruptly stopped and something zipped past them. Trish screamed and nearly dropped the gun in her hands. She kept her grip, then felt her arm. Something slick and wet coated her fingers and she knew it was blood. 

Edge was playing with them, and it was pissing both women off. Stacy stopped moving and turned to Trish. Even in the darkness, she could see at least an outline of her that shook with what she knew to be anger. Stacy turned her head up and screamed, "Stop playing with us!" 

Trish jerked her arm free of Stacy and called out, "If you're gonna kill us, just do it! Christian wouldn't want this!" 

"You don't know what he would want!" the voice came from the darkness. 

"I know better than you!" She stepped back and turned in a slow circle. "Stop with the games and just do it!" 

Edge laughed and said, "As you wish!" There was another scream, and they knew it was Dave. Both women jumped as Edge's voice came out again. "Did you know that in the dark, blood is black?" 

"Yours will be, too!" Trish screamed. "Dave!" He made noises, faint, and they were close enough to know that he wasn't dead yet. Trish saw the flash of silver as the blade came up again and she cocked the gun. She raised it and fired as the blade came rushing back down. 

Edge shouted in surprise and the knife clanked against the floor. He stood up and turned towards them. He wore night vision goggles and the two blondes were in a neon glow. He stalked towards them and Trish fired again. The bullet zipped past him and he laughed. "You missed!" 

The lights came on in a blinding blaze and Edge screamed, tearing the goggles off of his face. Trish closed her eyes against the sudden light, then opened them when Stacy shouted at her. She looked to see Edge zipping across the floor, heading straight for Randy. She fired three times, hitting nothing but a chair, a table and finally the DJ table. 

Edge vaulted over the table, his hair flying behind him. Stacy screamed, "Randy, look out!" Trish ejected the clip and found there was only one bullet left inside and one in the chamber. She slapped the clip back in, then fired at Edge's back... and missed as he drove Randy to the floor. 

"I'd have thought Christian would have taught you better aim!" Edge yelled out. 

"He didn't teach moving targets!" She trained the gun in his direction. "Why don't you stand up and I can show you what he taught me!" 

"If you want..." She could almost hear a smirk in his voice. There was a scream, undoubtedly Randy's, filled with rage, and then a curse. Edge stood slowly, and when he came up, he was holding Randy around the neck. "He's already got a knife in his back. And I can snap his neck before you can pull that trigger." 

Trish took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She steadied her voice as she said, "Is this what you think Christian would want?" 

"They killed him! You killed him!" 

"You don't know me!" She did her best to keep her arm straight, staring down the barrel of Hunter's gun. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Christian wouldn't have wanted anyone to die. If you know they did something, then you should have told the cops." 

"Ya know..." He tightened his hold on his neck and Randy groaned. "One thing Christian should have told you about me. It's impossible to talk me down." 

"And one thing you don't know me... I really don't give a shit about talking anyone down." She stared at him, trying her best to aim just at Edge, so she wouldn't hit Randy. Her sights were low and even holding the gun with both hands, her arms were starting to tremble. "Help me, Christian," she whispered to herself. "I know it's your brother, but... help me." 

She felt hands over hers and a body hover above her. For a second, she thought she was hallucinating and Christian had really come to help her. She stole a glance at the fingers on hers and saw glittering pink nail polish. Stacy... 

And then thoughts came back to her. Christian's funeral. Edge hovering over Randy in the alley. The wreckage at the club. The cuts on Chyna's arms and face from falling debris. Ric's funeral. Finally, the words Stacy told her just moments ago. Ric would want them to be strong. He would want them to be fierce. He would want them to be the women he had grown to respect, admire and in Stacy's case, love. 

Stacy rose Trish's arm a few inches, then whispered, "I'm looking right between his eyes." 

Trish nodded and simultaneously, both women pulled the trigger. The last bullet sailed through the air. Edge's head jerked back and Randy fell with a grunt to the floor. A small hole opened up in the center of Edge's head. He stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, then slid down. The women waited a few seconds, almost in disbelief that they had actually hit him. When Edge didn't move, they lowered their arms and the gun dropped to the grown. 

Trish ran straight to Randy and dropped down beside him. The knife in his back wasn't in deeply and his eyes were wide open. He looked up at her, blinking, and said, "Knew you could do it." 

"Sh..." Someone banged on the door and her head turned. "We need help!" She turned back to Randy. "You're gonna be fine." 

"Of course." He smirked. "I can even feel all my fingers and toes." He tried to push himself up and fell back down with a groan. "Fuck..." He shook his head. "Dave..." 

Trish remembered Dave's scream and jumped up. She ran across the room and knelt by Dave. Stacy was next to Chyna, who was at least sitting up against the wall. "Chyna?" 

"She's not talking much," Stacy said softly. "Dave..." She had tears in her eyes. "Blood and... I can't find Hunter." 

At the mention of his name, he came stumbling into the room, his shirt gone. Blood leaked out from holes in his side. Stacy jumped up and ran over to him. "Hunter... You..." 

"Fucker... Who... I heard shots..." He slumped to the floor and Stacy fell down next to him, pressing her hands against his wounds. 

"We did. Trish and me. Just..." She blinked away tears. "Just hush. The cops are outside and they'll be in here any second." 

Across the room, Trish turned back to Dave. Her hands pressed hard against his stomach, trying to stop the flow of blood. She sat on his waist and pushed down with all the strength that she had. She looked to Chyna, who just stared blankly ahead. She was in shock, but Trish thought she would be fine. Dave was the worst off at the moment. 

The police burst through the door and Trish whirled around. "Medical attention!" Blood still seeped from the cut on her arm, but she wasn't thinking about that. She had learned enough while getting her med tech degree to know that Dave was slipping. "He needs blood! And stitches! And..." She nodded towards Chyna. "Stab wound to the chest. I think she's got saline leaking." 

She pressed down hard on Dave until the EMT's pushed her out of the way and started to take care of him. His head rolled to the side and he gritted his teeth. She could tell he was trying not to scream. Dave mouthed "thank you" and Trish nodded at him, then ran across the room to Randy. 

He was trying to move towards her, but had slumped to the floor. Her hands were sticky with blood when she touched his face and whispered, "Be still. Help is finally here." 

"Fuckin' cops," he muttered. "Never..." 

"Here when ya need 'em. I know." She turned to see Stacy being pried away from Hunter as he was assessed and loaded onto a stretcher. She heard footsteps coming towards her and looked up. Benoit was quickly trailing two more medics, on their way to Randy. Benoit looked down at her and not even his steel eyes could frighten her. She didn't think there was anything else that could scare her. 

Trish turned her head as Randy screamed. They were pulling the knife out of his back, but it wasn't going easy. They decided to leave it in until they were at the hospital and loaded him onto the stretcher. When the stretcher was pulled up straight, Trish put her hand on Randy's arm. She looked at Benoit and said, "Edge is dead, Detective. The gun that killed him is over there." She pointed across the floor. "His body is over there." She jerked her head across the room. 

"And you did it?" 

"No questions until I find out if my lawyer's going to survive." She started walking forward as Randy's stretcher was taken towards the door. She stopped just past Benoit and turned around. "Finally, you solved a case. Too bad you didn't do that with Christian. Maybe all of this could have been avoided." 

She turned her back to him and walked outside. Dave, Chyna and Hunter were all in ambulances being rushed towards the hospital. Her arm trailed along Randy's arm as he was taken away from her and loaded into his own ambulance. Trish stepped back to stand next to Stacy, who hugged herself, watching them drive away with sirens blaring. 

"You okay?" 

Stacy turned to her and nodded. "Oddly... I think I am. Ignore the tears." 

"Yeah," Trish said, sniffing away tears of her own. "Come on. We can go to the hospital." She extended a bloody hand to Stacy, who took it with her own bloody palm. They started to walk across the lot, then stopped. Trish and Stacy looked at one another and thought the same thing. Car bomb. 

"Better yet..." Stacy took Trish over to a patrol car where the officers were getting inside and held the passenger side door open. "Could you please give us a ride to the hospital?" She grinned and when she looked at Trish, both women started laughing. 

The officers looked at them curiously, then nodded, saying they were headed there anyway. One officer opened the back door and ushered the women inside. The door closed and they looked at each other again, then let their eyes fall down to their clasped hands. Trish sighed as a calm fell over her and Stacy whispered, "I guess Dad was right." Trish looked up to her as she continued, "We are strong, tough women after all." 

...go back 


End file.
